


full disclosure, I am a monster

by Panchy



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Introspection, Monster Byleth, Past Abuse, Post-Time Skip, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Rehabilitation, byleth wasnt in the main story but now she is! hooray, byleth: still on the spectrum but now with more trauma, el looks at byleths overgrown hair and big claw hands and slappin titties and is like oh im GAY huh, like beauty and the beast but in reverse, more characters will be added as the series goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25595677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panchy/pseuds/Panchy
Summary: Those Who Slither had found the Crest-bearing Byleth before Rhea could. Warped and changed by their attempts to create sentient Beasts during the war and escaped as they scrambled in the aftermath of it, Byleth is left with little hope of living life as anything but a monster to be hunted or put on display. It isn't until a mysterious party reaches out a hand that her numbed heart starts to beat again.An AU where Fodlan is united without Byleth (or quite as many deaths), Edelgard actually plans to rehabilitate those experimented on by TWSITD that still retain some humanity, and the Ashen Demon is a more apt description than usual.Updates biweekly.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 153
Kudos: 534





	1. Transaction

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to satisfy the need to traumatize characters myself before nursing them back to health like a baby bird. I'm also posting during an online screenwriting class, proving that you can pay a lot of money for completely optional post-educational courses and still want to be on ao3 while the teacher is talking.
> 
> Title is from "Community Gardens" by The Scary Jokes.

Byleth lumbers uneasily forward, not given much of a choice. Any detail around her is obscured by the unkempt mass of hair that hangs down nearly to her waist and the night’s own shadow. The very end of her tail trails along the ground, catching against every stray branch and sharp rock, but she doesn’t have the energy to hold it aloft.

Kostas yanks the chain attached to her iron collar - not for any lack of pace, just for the feeling of it. Her shoulders ache from the way her disproportionately long arms are angled together by the manacles on her wrists. They’re actually repurposed neck restraints, necessitated by the way her arms thicken into oversized claws at the end, and the chain is short enough where the rough, grayed skin there is littered with accidental scratches from the talons. The muzzle is excessive, Byleth thinks. She’s never bitten anyone in her life.

Their beaten carriage sits crookedly behind them, manned by a driver and archer keeping a close eye on the exchange about to happen. Before them lies a stretch of lumpy forest clearing and the silhouette of a figure and their carriage. Even from here, Byleth can see it’s of higher quality than theirs. The body doesn’t sag forward, for one.

“Sir Kostas,” the figure says, though they make no move to approach the pair. Masculine, slightly breathy.

For an absurd moment, Byleth is almost thankful for the muzzle’s metal, which juts out enough to part the shaggy mess somewhat and allow some sight if she squints and angles her head just so. Something like disappointment hits her when she realizes the figure before them is wearing a full mask and loose robes. She’d be better off trying to discern their appearance with her eyes shut.

Kostas puffs up - pleased at the title, most likely - and sidles up closer. He might be trying to use his size to intimidate the stranger, but the attempt seems absurd considering the bound half-monster beside him who just about matches his height while slouched.

“You! You’re here to buy this beast off us, huh?” Kostas bellows. The objective strategy-minded side of Byleth wonders at the point of having a clandestine meeting to make a highly illegal business deal if Kostas is going to yell the whole time. Maybe that’s why they’re so far out in the wilderness.

“Yes.” The figure tilts just slightly to the side and makes a gesture. His footman materializes at his side, holding a heavy sack in his arms that jingles with coin. “The amount agreed upon, should you still be amenable.”

Kostas lights up, giddy at the sight. It’s certainly more than they could get running their travelling show for another half a year. Still, he’s careful. “Show me.”

The figure nods, and the servant obediently displays the bag’s contents, ensuring every piece is gold. Kostas takes a couple coins with his free hand and rubs them together. He nods, but gives a sidelong glance to the figure.

“What do ye need the freak for, anyway?” A suspicious glint hits Kostas’s eye. “Don’t seem the type to run a sideshow.”

“I have a mining operation, a modest business in east Varley territory,” the man replies coolly. “We’ve acquired a new mine, but I’ve lost enough men trying to dig it out without the rock coming loose. Having a worker with more strength and less...fragility to do the work of clearing it out and putting up beams is more than enough of a benefit to cover the cost.”

“Workhorse, then. That’s just where this thing belongs - in a dark cave somewhere.”

“Quite.” The mask shows little of the man’s features, but even Byleth can hear the tight smile behind the word. Kostas, somehow more dense in social matters that herself, doesn’t seem to notice.

“It’s yours, then.”

The metal at her throat pulls as Kostas makes to hand off the chain. Something in the movement sends a weak spark of energy through her veins - the last throes of self-preservation, the instinct to fight. Her father had always told her to follow that instinct.

She won’t let him down now.

Byleth surges forward with the motion instead of pulling back, pulling the chain from Kostas’s grip and nearly sending her would-be purchaser sprawling. But her goal isn’t to incapacitate. She makes a break for the treeline, getting the chain out of grabbing range as quickly as possible.

Even through the rushing blood in her ears, Byleth hears Kostas’s enraged roar. She’s heard it before and she doesn’t want to be around when he erupts. Thirty feet from the treeline. Twenty-five.

The whistle of an arrow doesn’t register, but it hits the ground close enough for her to feel it in her feet. Twenty. Fifteen.

The thin night air turns heavy, and a stale scent like mildew reaches her. Ten. Not this. Byleth feels her body press into itself, like the leather straps that bound her to the table under their knives. The sensation was the same there, too, and Byleth scarcely has a second to wonder which spell is about to hit her before the feeling tightens, along with a heaviness in her legs. Eight. Banshee, then. Seven and a half.

At seven feet from the treeline, Byleth falls to her knees, trying to put the air back in her lungs. The grass crunches quickly behind her.

“That won’t be necessary,” the man says, and from the way the footsteps slow she guesses it was directed at Kostas. “You don’t get anywhere in Varley without being a strict disciplinarian. I assure you, I’m more than capable of forcing those under me into line.”

“This won’t cheapen the price, y’know,” Kostas grumbles as he picks up the trailing chain left on the ground.

“I’m not about to argue over a few thousand gold. At this point, it’s best to get packed away quickly.”

Byleth can’t bring herself to stand back up before Kostas has to yank the chain, but her walk into the other carriage is without complaint.

Once she’s loaded into the carriage and the man silently glides into the seat across from her, the rider closes the door. The carriage lurches into motion a few minutes later, rousing the man out of whatever he was brooding about. He lifts a hand and plays out a pattern - Byleth flinches, but all that accompanies is a soft fizz and a popping in her ears. A soundproofing spell. The man knocks against the carriage twice and, seemingly satisfied, reaches for his mask.

“Forgive me,” he says, removing the piece, “for the act, and forget anything I told that wretch. You’ll no longer be a slave under my watch.” His face is thin, severe, but his eyes hold a conviction in them that contrasts his grim appearance. “My name is Hubert.”


	2. Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter briefly depicts Byleth having a PTSD-related panic attack, starting a bit after Byleth says "Thank you" and over by the time they arrive at their destination ("It's only after the carriage has been fully unloaded-"). See the chapter notes at the end for a short summary of the chapter following that "Thank you."

With his high cheekbones and the shadows that seemed permanently etched into his face, Hubert looks like exactly the kind of person Byleth expected would buy a hulking half-monster for his own personal use. Which makes his words all the more strange.

“You are?” he asks.

Byleth cocks her head. She recognizes it as a question, of course. But she can’t quite connect why he’d ask. Surely at some point between hearing rumors of the monster being paraded around eastern Adrestia, seeing the traveling sideshow, and arranging a purchase, one would have at least heard who it was they were buying. Is it a trick?

Hubert watches her under that fixed gaze, tenting his hands in his lap. “I’ve heard a few names from locals and flyers, but I don’t suspect you truly want to go by the Ashen Demon.”

The barest amount of tension leaves her body. She’d been punished before for correcting what they called her, early on. But it doesn’t seem to be an attempt to trip her up on purpose. “...Byleth.” Her voice is scratchier than she remembers it being.

“Byleth.” It’s a little alien to hear it again. Hubert procures a key from his pocket and gestures a come-closer motion. “Your wrists, please.”

Unsure but with little else to do, Byleth holds out her large claws, going slowly - moving her hands too suddenly has startled many into a striking out by reflex. Hubert raises the manacle with one hand and slides the key into place with the other, and soon both chunks of metal lie on the carriage floor. At the instant and unexpected relief of being free of the binds, Byleth feels very keen on getting the rest off and easily allows him to take the muzzle, the heavy collar.

Hubert eyes her warily as she adjusts, but she uses her newfound freedom of movement to bend her head back and forth, cracking the bones there with a pop so satisfying she thinks she could lay back and sleep right there against the seat. She doesn’t, but her muscles relax in a way they couldn’t before.

Hubert’s attention drifts from her movements to her neck. His face is impassive, but there’s a widening in his gaze that she can’t decipher. “You’re wounded.”

Byleth instinctively reaches up for her neck before recalling why that’s a terrible idea. She catches herself, instead splaying her hand flat and rubbing carefully with the pads of her fingers. She feels the wet sores along where the clasps and bolts once pressed and waits for the sensation of pain to meet her. It doesn’t. The whole area just feels cold.

“Your wrists as well.” Byleth doesn’t have to look at those to know. “I have a passing knowledge of faith magic, if you’ll allow.”

Chances feel very small that this Hubert would go through the trouble just to turn around at this very moment, so Byleth shrugs and leans in closer. The area tingles - Byleth guesses that having any sort of feeling should be a relief - and slowly starts to warm again, like laying in a thin sunbeam. Once the neck is done, Byleth watches him do the same to her wrists, the sores drying and losing the angry red around them, but doing little else. She assumes time will carry them the rest of the way.

“Thank you,” Byleth says, belatedly remembering the typical response to a kindness done.

“I suspect you won’t want to do that just yet,” Hubert says, something rueful in his expression. “I’m acting as part of an interested party that wants to see a powerful organization more ancient and hidden than anything Fodlan has known brought down. Permanently.”

Byleth doesn’t quite follow, so she waits. Hubert bores his gaze into her.

“I’d like to ask about your present condition,” he says. “Has it anything to do with a people called the Agarthans? ‘Those Who Slither In The Dark?’”

The warmth escapes Byleth’s skin again. If she hadn’t seen Hubert’s hands still, she would swear another Banshee had hit her, pressing insistently against her ribcage, her throat.

Watching her, Hubert’s face darkens, if that’s possible. But he continues forward. “You have heard of them.” It’s not a question.

Byleth shakes her head. The words aren’t coming together. She can compartmentalize, but she can’t go through it again. Whoever this is, he can’t make her. Thoughts stop managing to stick. She scans the carriage. Door. She’s big enough, she’s had a breathing period. She sways back slightly before slamming her full weight into the door.

It doesn’t budge from its hinges, but the carriage rocks with the force. She doesn’t look at Hubert. She rams into it again.

“Stop. Stop!” Someone’s yelling, but she can’t tell who. She knocks into it again. The place between her shoulder and neck hurts. The carriage has stopped moving forward, but she still feels an uncomfortable pitching within her gut.

A final weak thump is all she can manage before leaning against the wall, panting heavily. Maybe not as recovered as she thought. There’s a moment of quiet.

“I won’t allow those serpents to crawl anywhere near here.” Hubert’s voice floats in from somewhere, breaking the heavy silence. “I merely desire information that could lead to their eradication.”

“...”

“You needn’t tell me right this moment. I apologize for my haste.” The implication of the wording, to her, is clear - it will happen. Hubert turns and slides the window behind him open to murmur something to the driver, and the carriage starts uneasily.

The remainder of the ride is quiet. Byleth floats along semi-comfortably, vaguely aware of the passage of time but not concerned with it enough to try and keep track.

It’s only after the carriage has been fully unloaded that Byleth realizes it’s stopped at all. The door is opened for her, and she blearily steps out to be met with a small cottage. Her instinct is to head to the stables that the horses are being led to, but Hubert stops her.

“This is a safehouse maintained by my subordinates,” Hubert says. “We’ll be staying here for the night and traveling out in the morning.”

He pauses, Byleth guesses, for her to say something, but she isn’t sure what to say. Being captured by bandits-turned-traveling-circus-troupe, one learns very quickly not to ask where. ‘Thanks?’ No, that didn’t sound right.

“Okay,” she says, because it seems like the most appropriate response. Hubert arches a brow, but says nothing as he waves her inside.

The door is a tight fit, but she makes it inside. It reminds her of the cottages that dotted the villages she and her father would travel to. Warm, humble, with an alien sort of comfort. Unassuming. She was much smaller then, but she remembers being invited to a few suppers in the wide kitchens as thanks for their work. It seems much smaller now.

The smells, though, are the same. Burning wood, flour, the vague scent of straw, stew. There’s two bowls set out on the table already, as well as a plate of dinner rolls in the center. Byleth thinks that maybe the second bowl is for the driver, but the man returns from getting the horses settled and takes a different bowl on the counter before leaving again.

“Go ahead,” says Hubert. Byleth doesn’t argue.

The stew isn’t too different from her usual fare, aside from the freshness and lack of spots in the potatoes. And the sheer amount of it. Byleth looks up and doesn’t even have to speak before Hubert is already spooning more into her bowl.

After that, Hubert shows her to a modest bedroom - seemingly the only one the cabin has to offer. This confuses her more than anything. She points to herself, looking at Hubert with her brows drawn together.

“Yes, you,” Hubert says. “Is there any problem?”

“No,” Byleth lies, looking at the bed from the corner of her eye as if its legs will start moving and walk away. Then she points at him.

“Oh, I still have much to do before my men and I retire for the night.”

As far as Byleth had seen, the only ones there were themselves and the driver, who’d left long ago. But the stew had to have gotten there somehow, she supposed. She nods slowly.

“Sleep well,” Hubert says as the door shuts.

Hubert moves back to the kitchen table and dutifully writes a few short pages before sealing them and passing them to a servant waiting outside. “Warp these over immediately, high priority. No response needed.” The servant nods and vanishes with a crack of burnt ozone.

When Hubert goes back in to check on Byleth, he finds her lying on top of the bunched sheets, curled inward like a cat around the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Byleth thanks Hubert, he asks for information on Those Who Slither, which makes Byleth panic. Hubert apologizes and assures her that she doesn't have to tell him anything right now. They soon arrive at a safehouse and eat supper before Byleth is sent to bed despite the fact that she may or may not know how to use one. Hubert sends a secret letter.


	3. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Hubert reach their destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's that time again - the time I post another chapter while I listen to my professor go on a tangent about Aristotle! I've never been much for schedule, but I will post at least once a week, barring heinous, crippling writer's block. Hope you enjoy!

Byleth wakes up as she always does - lying completely still and keeping a close ear out until she can piece together her surroundings. The ground is oddly soft, and there’s no wind. Not the carriage or camp, then. No yelling, so either the troupe is out visiting town or it’s too early for them to be awake. She cautiously cracks an eye open.

The night’s events begin trickling back. She lets out a breath when she realizes the troupe that placed her back in captivity is long gone, and a satisfying stretch when she remembers the manacles are too. Her hair is, as always, entirely unmanageable, so she works her claws through the front as much as it allows in order to part it a little better. It doesn't do much aside from hacking through a few defenseless tangles, but it almost works.

Byleth makes to get up and spots a crisply folded outfit on the wooden seat by the bed. She didn't think they were here last night, and she's the only person staying here. The implication is clearly that she should wear them, right? But something in her mind finds it hard to accept. After some trepidation, she changes out of her tattered outfit and into the newer one.

The tunic sleeves are tight past the elbow despite their width, and her tail has to be tucked into the loose legs of the trousers, but it fits miles better than what it replaced. Blessedly, there are no rows of buttons to try and maneuver with her claws.

After a few clumsy attempts to turn the doorknob, Byleth creaks it open and peeks out. Hubert looms over a plate of eggs and toast at the kitchen table. He looks up despite Byleth's best attempts to go unnoticed.

"Good morning," he says. "We'll depart shortly after breakfast. Is the outfit suitable?"

At Byleth's nod, he scans her form and hums, his mouth a straight line. "It was the largest my men could find on short notice. We'll have you fitted properly once we arrive."

The carriage has already been loaded by the time they finish. Byleth’s claw accidentally gouges the frame of the carriage while pulling herself upwards and reflexively looks back towards Hubert, but he simply waves a hand, as if dissipating her concerns like smoke out of the air. And then they’re off. Byleth has never been a conversationalist, and the gaunt man shuffling papers across from her seems unlikely to start a riveting discussion about the weather, so she settles for watching the grass and flowers blur out past the window and finding a leg position that will squish her tail the least.

Byleth wasn’t sure what she should be looking for outside, anyway. Hubert hadn’t mentioned where they were headed, but Byleth got the impression that he was both anticipating that she’d ask and preparing to avoid giving an answer. Why keep hinting, then? If he wanted her to know, he should tell her outright. Rolling hills turn to farmland, then meadows again, then settlement. When the buildings become cramped, pressing up against each other in a bid for space, Byleth leans back and away from the window. Hubert’s gaze flicks outside before returning to the pamphlet he’s annotating.

“Not fond of the cities?” he asks.

Byleth readjusts, sinking into her seat as much as her large form allows. “Crowds.”

Hubert hums in a way Byleth can’t figure out the meaning of, and she wonders if she’ll be shown off as a curiosity in a market somewhere, after all. “We won’t be stopping in the public eye,” he adds, perhaps sensing the shift.

That’s all that’s said until the carriage stops and a clanking is heard outside and a helmet materializes in the window. It’s all Byleth can do not to follow her first impulse and bolt. Guards have never been good news for her. As it is, she just stares. Hubert nods at the guard, and just as quickly as they came, they march off.

Byleth turns to Hubert. “Jail?”

Hubert actually snorts at this. “I hope my treatment hasn’t been so terrible that you think so. I disposed of those rusted shackles quite a few hours ago.”

It’s a good point, Byleth thinks. Enough to settle her for the moment.

The carriage only rolls a few more yards before it’s stopped for good. A footman opens the carriage door, and the visorless make of his helmet means that Byleth can see clearly how his expression morphs from bowed respect to drained shock. He takes a staggering step back, jaw slack, hand twitching towards his belt. Hubert extends a hand in front of him and leans off his seat, looking like a drawn arrow.

“What’s going on?” a voice calls out moments before another knight juts into view in a shock of blue hair and polished silver. His face lights in recognition. “Oh! Hey, Hubert! You’re back!”

“I am,” Hubert says lowly, then gives a pointed glare at the footman, who somehow turns even whiter. “I thought I had detailed my arrival quite clearly in my letter.”

"Yup! The whole staff heard it. Or I thought they did. You got Minister Vestra's memo, right?" he says, turning to the lesser, paler knight. Then his eyes land on Byleth, seemingly noticing the seven-foot woman for the first time. "Oh, hey! You're Byleth, right? I'm Caspar."

Caspar's hand is inexplicably thrust in Byleth's direction. Byleth looks to Hubert for some sort of direction, but all the man offers is a weighty sigh. Byleth turns back and gently grasps the armored glove with her claws like a farmer carefully pinching a kitten's scruff. Caspar's eyes widen.

"Woah! These are almost as big as the ones on my gauntlets!" He pulls their tenuously joined hands closer, inspecting the talons admiringly.

"Bergliez. If you could stop acting like a fool and let. Us. In."

"Right! Sorry!" Caspar does not look sorry. The footman, however, does.

“My sincere apologies, Minister Vestra," he stammers. "I'll announce your arrival immediately."

Caspar keeps his hand outstretched to help Byleth down, though Byleth does her best to put as little weight on it as possible. Outside, she can see their location much more clearly.

"Oh. Hubert."

"Yes?"

"Palace."

"It is," Hubert concedes.

Byleth hadn’t been to a single castle in her life, let alone the Imperial Palace of the entire united Fodlan, but the structure is unmistakable. And terrifyingly large. Castles had always been faraway ideas, pointy things in the distance that Byleth’s dad would explain were where rich people sat and evaded taxes and avoided solving the problems that mercenaries like them would eventually be called in to fix. Byleth didn’t care to learn much more about castles than that because they were never invited to one, even when the nobles who lived inside hired them.

Whatever half-formed notion she had of them didn’t come close to the feeling of being nose-to-wall with one, all endless rock ground unnaturally smooth, spires that could only be seen as glimpses past the landings and walkways that stretched across the different levels, and the only pair of doors Byleth has seen that could easily fit her without her having to duck.

Byleth swallows. "Can’t."

"Whyever not? Though the behavior of some might imply otherwise, your presence has been announced well in advance and formally requested by Her Majesty.”

“Plus, he works here,” Caspar helpfully adds.

Byleth can’t think of a single reason why anyone in high society would want her walking their floors at all. She suspected not even the maids would want her around. Her first thought is that Hubert is lying, but that would mean Caspar and every guard they passed was lying and also very bad at their jobs. It’s still easier to believe.

But, looking back at the high iron gate, unyielding walls, groups of knights crossing each others’ paths in indiscernible but strict patterns, and city beyond, it’s clear Byleth can’t just waltz off. There’s nowhere to go but forward. Byleth turns back and nods.

“Great!” says Caspar, who’s rather excited for something that was probably already a foregone conclusion. “Don’t worry, you’ll love it here. You can come in, get a good lunch, some new clothes...and, um, probably a bath.”


	4. Entrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth enters the palace and meets a couple new faces. And gets that bath.

It wasn’t an empty threat. Byleth is quickly ushered in by her dour companion and hyperactive knight, chauffeured past royal banners, tapestries of war scenes, fancy helmets that must have been worn by someone important, marble busts, stained-glass windows, oil paintings, pottery, small sculptures...Byleth folds her hands firmly inward for fear of touching something accidentally, despite the halls being spacious enough to where she could run with arms outstretched and not touch a thing. The maids gasp and turn their heads to watch as she passes, but are disciplined enough that they don't stop in their own work to do so. Or perhaps they'd just paid attention to Hubert's message.

Lunch has yet to be cooked, so it’s decided that Byleth will be dropped off at the baths first and foremost. Hubert will see to making “necessary preparations” while Caspar will stand by outside to escort her to the dining hall afterward. With that, Byleth is waved inside.

About halfway through shucking her clothes off, it occurs to Byleth that it may be the first time in months that she has had a moment alone. The only sounds in the changing room are the shuffling of fabric and the flow of the bath just past the door. It’s placid. Byleth tenses, the lack of any activity only making her hyperaware of her surroundings. She keeps her senses trained, even as she ducks under the shower spout and lets it soak her until the water runs from blackened to only somewhat cloudy.

Byleth considers stopping after the rinse. Visits to public bathhouses were a rarity growing up - more often, the mercenaries in her father’s company would take turns dipping into a nearby river or sitting under a waterfall. They’d stay long enough to wash the grime away, but not long enough to where they’d catch a fever from the chilled water. It was enough to get the job done, and Byleth figures she’d done just that. However, there’s little else to do until lunch is ready. If she’s going to be sitting around anyway...

The damp air hits Byleth’s face as soon as she enters the bathing area proper. The sheer luxuriousness of the room hits her next. A shallow pool set into marble and edged with decorative tile takes up the majority of the room’s area, gleaming and clear. Still, it’s hardly cramped; even with that and the pillars stretching from floor to high ceiling, the path that borders the room gives ample space to move around. The bath itself gives off a vaguely flowery scent underneath the smell of steam, and the low steps beckon one to follow and ease down onto the submerged bench framing the pool walls. Though tempting, Byleth paces the length of the room to look behind each column before sinking into the water.

Now she knows why all those nobles never leave their castles. The bath is indescribably wonderful, and she slides off the stone seat almost immediately in order to sink deeper into it. Byleth does not care what magic keeps the water so warm that it permeates her tough hide, her muscles, her bones - only that it continues to do so. Sitting on its floor, the water just barely kisses Byleth’s chin. Her long hair fans out, making her look like one of the drooping trees that cast shadows along the western coast. Something tight within her unwinds.

Byleth’s heart says she could stay in these waters forever, and her body readily agrees, but her stomach has other ideas. She can only ignore the empty rumbling for so long before it beats out the comfort of the pool. With a small grunt, she rises, not waiting for the water to stream off of her before she’s stepping back onto previously-dry stone. She walks towards the changing area feeling like a wet, lavender-scented dog. To her great surprise, she isn’t alone.

A woman in a long, thin dress stands just inside the room, and upon seeing Byleth turns as white as the towels in her arms. They’re both frozen for a moment, and Byleth thinks of what a terrible place to pass out the bathhouse would be, though she’s not sure which of them she’s concerned for.

“G...Good afternoon!” the woman says, pitch a little too high. “I’m the, the b-bathing attendant. I was sent to assist in preparing mi...lady?...”

“Byleth,” Byleth supplies.

“Well, I, ah. I was sent to prepare...you...for lunch and take your measurements.” The woman leans one way, then the other, searching for something in Byleth’s figure and not quite finding it. “If you could, er, raise your arms?”

Byleth has to end up taking a seat for the attendant to reach where she needs to. It takes three towels to get Byleth fully dry, at least one of which was dedicated entirely to her hair. The servant’s attempts to comb through it as she goes are quickly abandoned, and she mumbles something about sending for someone to cut it later. Byleth tries very hard to sit still and not think about sharp objects near her head as the maid finishes and takes out a thin line of tape to measure her shoulders, bust, waist, tail (hesitantly), everywhere. Despite the wounds still marking where the manacles lied and the older pains that bisected her body in very, very straight patterns, the maid makes no indication of seeing them. It could be that there’s plenty else going on with Byleth’s appearance to take in, but she likes to think it’s politeness.

She’s given a different set of clothes, one made with softer material but much looser, and the attendant explains that a more fitting wardrobe will be hand-tailored for her soon. The idea that the finely-made outfit is a temporary fix is boggling, but so are most of the events of the past twenty-four hours or so. The effort would be better put to thinking about what lunch will be.

Byleth doesn’t have to wonder for long. Caspar stands exactly where she left him, though he somehow has even more energy than before, fiddling with the straps of his arm brace before noticing she’s out. He’s barely restraining himself as he run-walks her through yet more hallways, and Byleth thinks that she’s been through villages smaller than this. And less repetitive. The paintings and statues are nice and all, but one old emperor looks like another, after a while all the gold trimming and severe faces blur together in a mass of indistinguishable opulence. It’s possible that the current emperor is among them, gray-haired and scowling down from their perch, but they all look equally ready to sentence the viewer to death. Byleth doesn’t try guessing.

The dining hall is nearby, if the scent of cooked meat and the slight quickening to Caspar’s step mean anything. Not that Byleth is much better. By the time they reach the entryway, they’ve all but broke out into a run.

One would think that the dining hall would be a grand, sprawling room with enough table space to feed all the people Byleth has met in her entire life, and maybe there is such a room elsewhere in the castle. This one, however, is a more intimate space. A fireplace with a carved eagle’s head emerging from its mantel is set into a nearby wall, right below a hanging rug so worn and ancient that Byleth wonders if there isn’t some better place for it than directly above a heat source. The lone table is narrow, long enough to seat about a dozen, but thin enough to comfortably keep conversation with the opposite side. Its only occupants are Hubert and, a split-second later, Caspar, who pats the seat next to him in eager invitation.

The plates are already set out - whole charred fish, flanked by slices of tomato and generously topped with chopped herbs of some kind. Byleth grabs a fork, but the utensil is small and fiddly in her claws. It takes ten seconds of wrangling before she abandons the effort with a frustrated grunt. Claws should be made for eating fish, right? Even as she peels the flesh away from bone, juices coating her hands, she still eats with more decorum than Caspar, who wields his fork and knife as if he were trying to kill his lunch a second time.

Hubert, who has been quietly watching his companions eviscerate their meals, takes a breath as if about to speak before a sound in the hall has him pause. The steady click of heels on stone is the only warning before an older woman with a foxlike smile sweeps into the room. She barely glances at the men through her half-lidded eyes as she strides towards the table.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

“Manuela!” says Caspar. “You’re up early.”

Manuela pointedly ignores him. “I’d like to borrow your guest for a moment. An anxious little bird told me they could use a check-up.”

“At a later time, perhaps,” Hubert replies coolly. “It is imperative that she meets the Emperor as soon as possible.”

“Oh, hush with that. If there’s time for a soak in the baths and a full meal, there’s time to get bandaged up. I’m sure our beloved Emperor wouldn’t want to see her guest dragged in with clear injuries.”

“They’re hardly scrapes, at this point,” Hubert says. “Nothing that would require immediate medical attention.”

Caspar takes only a moment to look up from his meal. “She’s probably still busy with her meeting, so you’d have to wait anyway.”

“Nothing those buffoons have to say could be as pressing as this. I’m not against shooing them away.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Manuela says. “But like it or not, we still have to play nice with them.”

“For the time being,” says Hubert.

“You’re as terrible as you were during the war,” Manuela grumbles to no one in particular, though it’s still loud enough for Hubert to hear it. Then she turns to Byleth. “I’m Manuela Casagranda, head royal physician. My infirmary’s just down the hall. Why don’t we get you looked at?”

Byleth looks between the two and shakes her head. “Hubert healed.”

Manuela scoffs. “That does not count. Hubert can manage a passable battlefield patch job, but it’s hardly acceptable for actual treatment.”

Byleth feels her already-mild protests peter out, and the sores do itch a little, so she obediently follows the woman out. The relief Byleth feels that the door they stop at is only a minute’s walk from where they were is immense.

“You can come in and get yourself comfortable,” Manuela says as she opens the door to her.

At first brush, the infirmary looks much the same as those Byleth had seen in village churches, where sick and poor commoners unable to afford a healer’s services would go hoping for treatment. Still, it doesn’t take close inspection to see the differences. Instead of the rough fabric variety suitable for battlefields, the cots are cushioned, with a set of pillows and sheets arranged uniformly on each. The cabinets, made of rich wood, are filled with rolls upon rolls of bandages and cloudy little vials of somethings that are surely too specialized for the average town healer to have on hand. Even the heavy scarlet curtains separating the beds and adorning the windows wouldn’t be out of place in a noble’s sitting room.

Something stops Byleth just a few feet from the cot. A thin sort of table stands nearby, piled with a variety of metal tools. With a shiver, Byleth realizes why they seem so familiar.

“Hm? There’s no need to be shy, dear. Just hop right up over here.”

Byleth does not hop anywhere. Her gaze is firmly fixed, and Manuela follows her line of sight to the tray of medical devices.

“Oh, goodness, no. We won’t be using any of these.” Manuela scoops up the tray and stuffs it away in a cabinet on the opposing side of the room, out of sight. She turns back. “Don’t hesitate to tell me if anything makes you feel uncomfortable. My intention is to help you feel better, not worse.”

Something about the medic’s no-nonsense attitude assures Byleth, but it’s still a few minutes before Manuela succeeds in coaxing her onto the edge of the bed. From there, it’s easy. Manuela is gentle, hands soft from faith magic use, as she presses and checks the areas most clearly in need of attention. She doesn’t flinch when helping Byleth unbutton her top and revealing the cold network of scars that span her torso, her chest. Manuela looks unsurprised in a way Byleth can’t imagine is solely from hearing about the scars in advance, but that could be chalked up to professionalism. It must take seeing a lot of injuries to get to be a healer somewhere this nice.

“These are too old to do much about,” Manuela sighs, “but there’s muscle tear under the surface. Let’s see what we can do about that.”

Byleth feels the healing spell sink in, the sensation of warmth being poured directly into her veins not entirely unlike stepping into the bath. The wounds Hubert healed knit together and leave nothing but a pale shadow where they lied. Old kinks and sores Byleth wasn’t even aware of loosen, and something in her lower back shifts with a noticeable pop that has her wincing before her entire posture relaxes. It’s noticeable enough that Manuela smiles as she finishes her work.

“That should do it, but you’ll still need to take it easy and allow the muscles a chance to recover. Now, since you’re here-”

Manuela is cut off by a knock on the door, which opens before she can give a response.

“Manuela, listen to-”

A young woman takes a full stride into the room before stopping in her tracks. Her lips, painted a pretty shade of pink, form a perfect ‘o’ as her eyes widen in...Byleth wants to say shock or fear, as those account for almost all reactions she gets, but it’s too mild and passes too quickly for that. Perhaps it was just...honest surprise?

“Oh, my. Am I interrupting? I didn’t think anyone would be in here around lunchtime.”

“You’re perfectly fine, Dorothea. It’s nothing too complicated.” Manuela looks up and gestures towards the woman. “Byleth, this is my close friend Dorothea. She’s near and dear to all our hearts here at the palace, and something of a healer herself. Would you mind if she stayed?”

Byleth shakes her head, and Dorothea closes the door behind herself. “Honestly, Manuela, isn’t that a little much? But it is nice to meet you, Byleth.”

“H..hello,” Byleth replies.

“You know I don’t flatter,” says Manuela. “We’re nearly done, I was just about to get her vitals.”

"I can wait. It isn't urgent - just gossip, really."

Manuela pulls out what looks like a wooden bell, long in the handle and wide and curved at the end. It doesn't look as cruel as the other instruments had, but Manuela still makes a point to explain that it helps listen to the heart. The wide end presses against a relatively unmarred part of her chest, while Manuela rests her ear on the other end.

“Hmm.” Manuela removes the device from her ear. “That’s not good. Dorothea, dear, would you mind taking a listen? I’d like a second set of ears.”

Dorothea accepts the instrument and does the same, pressing the bell to Byleth’s chest.

“It's very...erratic,” she says at length.

Manuela sighs. “I didn’t think my hearing was going so soon, but it doesn’t make sense. Byleth, do you feel…odd in any way? Does your chest feel funny?”

“...Yes.” Byleth absently presses against her chest, feeling the odd thumping within. “Didn’t...used to.”

Manuela places a concerned hand on Byleth’s arm. “Didn’t used to what, dear? Be so off rhythm?”

“Beat,” Byleth replies.

The hand stills. “It...sorry if I’m not understanding you right, but do you mean to say…”

“Your heart didn’t beat?” Dorothea breathes.

Byleth nods.

Manuela takes the stethoscope back and rubs between her brows. “How long has it been...beating like this?”

Byleth cocks her head, frowning. Tracking the time wasn’t something that was possible during her initial captivity, and it was hard to find a reason to when she was traveling after that. “Mm...months?”

“And it didn’t beat before then?”

Byleth shakes her head. Manuela places her hands against her cheeks, taking a long, slow breath. Dorothea looks over at her, eyes lost. It worries Byleth just a little. Are they feeling okay?

“I’m going to fetch a drink,” Manuela says at last. “And Hubert, so I can give him a piece of my mind.”

“Lin’s going to have his work cut out for him,” Dorothea mumbles.

Byleth's unsure which part of this is supposed to be Hubert's fault, but Manuela leaves all the same. Dorothea places herself in a chair by the cot, angling it to face Byleth better.

"So much excitement, and you just got here,” she sighs. “Speaking of, how was your trip here, Byleth? I know it’s a long way to Enbarr.”

“Very...quiet.”

Dorothea laughs. “I love Hubie, but I wouldn't pick him for a traveling companion unless I wanted to hear about "working in the shadows" and "bringing our enemies to the light" or nothing at all. I bet he did paperwork the whole way here, didn't he?"

She huffs at Byleth's nod. "I swear, he doesn't know how to stop working. Much like another certain someone I know." The last part is grumbled, more to herself than to Byleth. "I know why they had him do this, but I can't help thinking they could've brought someone a little more reassuring along, too. Lighten the carriage up a little."

Byleth shakes her head. “No...lighten. I’m heavy enough.”

Dorothea’s eyes widen before she laughs - not a sweet, demure thing, but an unabashed guffaw. Byleth’s not sure what caused it, but she doesn’t mind hearing it. “I didn’t take you for a joker! There’s some charm under that tough exterior, isn’t there?”

The door bursts open. Both women whip around, but instead of Manuela, a soldier half-drags his limping comrade in, who clutches his side painfully. Dorothea’s on her feet in an instant.

“Accident in the training grounds,” the soldier pants, leading the other to an empty cot. “Fell the wrong way sparring.”

Manuela’s comment on her healing skills must have been accurate, as Dorothea navigates the infirmary like she’d always been there, grabbing scissors to remove his shirt with. Byleth can already see the purpled skin peeking out with the first cut.

Thinking it best that Dorothea would be best left to focus on those actually injured, Byleth slips off the bed and pads out the door, leaving the groaning behind her. It shouldn't be difficult to get to the dining hall again, considering how little time it took to get here. It was...to the east, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My longest chapter yet! The next chapter's on the shorter side, so I hope this evens it out in advance. I also finally added a rating to this fic, mostly because I forgot that section was there.
> 
> Did you know that section of fireplace is spelled “mantel” and not “mantle”? Spellcheck sure doesn’t!
> 
> I'd like to thank my girlfriend Addie for acting as my beta reader, which in practice is her being reassuring and gushing over these sad little sapphics. She's also responsible for like, two-thirds of the good ideas that made up this fic so far. What a sweetheart!


	5. Impression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard takes a break.

_In, out._

Edelgard grips the edge of the balcony railing as if it’s a podium, posture straight and head high despite the lack of any eyes upon her. It’s a purposefully difficult habit to let go of, carefully cultivated in order to show strength and focus at all times. No one is going to catch the emperor slumped, even in private.

As wide as the palace is, this is one of the few places Edelgard feels she can get away to collect herself when the pressures of rebuilding a nation from scratch become too stifling. The balcony is one of many identical structures jutting from the palace walls, though its position away from the sun and the castle’s front meant it was rarely paid much attention. Hubert surely knows of it, but he’s polite enough to pretend he doesn’t.

Perhaps he should.

By all accounts, everything is unfolding exactly as hoped. The war on Fodlan’s surface is over. The walls of social class are crumbling atop their weak foundation, and the haggard remnants of a dying monarchical system no longer have the strength to drag it into the next decade, let alone the next thousand years. Under the surface, Those Who Slither are quiet, sent scrambling to their nests to recover and plot ways to regain their suffocating grip on humanity’s throat. Edelgard won’t allow them the chance.

Yet, despite everything, the air within the castle remains stale. From meetings early in the day to forms and agreements signed long into the night, the mire of bureaucracy and objecting lords drags her down more than any muddy trench had in the past. But Edelgard does not, can not slow her pace, even with the war over. Too many rely on her, and too much has been given up for her to falter now. She will continue to give and give until there is nothing left of her for Fodlan to take.

Edelgard has the sinking feeling that the crown is wearing her instead of the other way around.

Those she is closest to don’t understand, and Edelgard doesn’t think they ever will. Edelgard can’t count the number of times each of the Black Eagles has insisted she rest despite her protests (aside from Hubert, who had done so exactly twice). They always had her best interests at heart, of course. Over the course of her school days and the long, brutal war that followed, Edelgard had come to trust her friends. Rely on them, even. It had taken her far too long to get to that point, but they were the reason she continued fighting long after the war on the surface had ended. The reason she hadn’t lost her humanity long ago.

Something twinges in her chest at the thought. Yes, she cares for them deeply, but an emperor can’t while away their days entertaining company like the flippant nobles she so desperately works to unseat. It’s not fair to them to have a friend who scarcely has time to bid them hello, especially after growing so close during their campaign. For her own part, she almost...misses them. A ridiculous thought, considering half of them reside in the castle walls and the other half make themselves welcome anyway. A good portion spend hours a day discussing reforms and reconstruction efforts with her. It’s better this way. An emperor always works for their people, not themself.

Rich, considering said emperor is currently hiding away like a child, delaying a meeting with one of Fodlan’s most vulnerable. What would they think of her now, seeing her brush off those she should be the most sworn to protect?

Well. Edelgard could feel guilty over her small break, or she could do something about it. She takes a deep breath, straightens her posture - as if it could be any more upright - and decisively turns on her heel to reenter the castle.

And comes face-to-chest with the most towering, muscular, blank-faced woman she’s seen in her entire life.

Edelgard’s back hits the balcony railing behind her as she jumps back from the enormous figure. There’s not much distance she can put between them - a few feet at best - but that’s the difference between getting stabbed and finding an opening. But what could Edelgard really do? Goddess, she didn’t so much as _budge_ when Edelgard collided with her. And she’s blocking the only way out.

_Not the_ only _way_ , Edelgard briefly thinks, running one hand over the railing as the other sits on the handle of her hidden dagger. But before she can entertain thoughts of crimson hitting the ground below, her brain catches up to the rest of her. The woman hasn’t moved. In fact, she doesn’t seem to be doing anything, keeping a respectable distance as her focus flicks between Edelgard’s face and the hand behind her.

With the fog of adrenaline clearing, Edelgard can see the woman more rationally. The initially frightening silhouette looks ungainly, almost clumsy now, hunched in order to fit under the open door frame. Her arms swell past the elbow and are ringed in faint scars that Edelgard knows the pattern of all too well. But her _face_. She’s young, handsome even, with a softness Edelgard hadn’t anticipated. Wide, expressionless eyes look out from behind dusky blue locks like a rabbit peeking out from the brush. Rarely does she meet someone willing to meet her gaze for more than moments at a time, but the woman’s eyes bear directly into her own with a focus that has her suppressing a shiver.

She knows who she is; Hubert’s letter was quite clear in describing the passive giant who had made two nonviolent attempts at escape, despite looking as though she could overpower ten men with ease (though, in true Hubert fashion, he insisted they remain cautious). What makes her uneasy is how she came to be all the way over here, completely unguarded.

The woman takes a breath.

“Hello,” she says tonelessly. “I’m lost.”

Edelgard blinks as she processes the words. She could almost laugh, if she wasn’t recovering from the adrenaline that flooded her veins. “I’m...sorry to hear that. You’re Byleth, correct?”

Byleth nods quickly. Though her face remains expressionless, the smallest bit of relief lights her eyes.

“I’d be happy to help you find your way back. Er...if you could?...”

Byleth cocks her head, then looks over her shoulder. “...Oh.” Carefully, she backs out of the frame and into the hallway, allowing Edelgard to come back inside.

Edelgard nods as way of thanks, then starts in the direction of the more populated areas of the castle. Byleth stays close, which is both a little unnerving and a relief - Edelgard isn’t relaxed enough to have her at her back and out of eyesight. “Where were you before? I’m surprised you were left to wander on your own.”

"Nurse,” Byleth says. The infirmary, then? Wait...

“This is the _third floor._ Where were you trying to go?”

“D...dining room?”

Edelgard wants to question further, but oh, Byleth’s expression sends a jab through her chest. How can the smallest slant of the brows and downwards quirk of the mouth look so sad? She’s like a chastised puppy. Well - maybe less a puppy and more one of those hulking dogs they use in Faerghus to chase down bears. But the point stands.

She has to say something to ease the tension, but catches herself as she realizes how casual she’s been. As odd as it is to say, the bestial woman’s abrupt appearance had caught her with her guard down. Instead, Edelgard takes a breath to compose herself, mentally setting her mask of formality back into place.

“I apologize for the undue stress getting lost in the halls has caused you," she says, as if conceding a point in a meeting. “I’ll admit more than one dignitary has found themselves in a similar situation.”

"No, no stress," says Byleth. "Everyone's...nice."

"That's a relief to hear. Who have you met so far?"

Byleth has apparently been very busy in the few short hours she’s been here. She’s polite in her own way, choosing what few words she offers with care, wasting none. Edelgard can’t help but chuckle at the straightforward appraisal of some of her dearest friends - Dorothea’s pretty, Manuela’s warm, Caspar’s...lively.

“And what of Hubert?” she finds herself saying.

As if summoned like a wraith, a quick clacking of boots echoes through the hall before Hubert himself rounds the corner, face flushed more than one would think the pale man capable of. He comes to a halt at the sight before him, a sharp worry in his eyes snuffing out as he straightens and unruffles his appearance in a smooth motion. Another second and it's as if he were never running in the first place. Edelgard doesn't miss the flex of his hand that dismisses the spell he'd prepared.

“Your Majesty,” he says, nearly hiding the stress his lungs have been through if not for the slightest waver. All it takes is for Edelgard to quirk a brow for him to look properly chastised.

A lighter click sounds, no less rushed, and Dorothea nearly bumps into Hubert. The emotion in her face is much clearer.

"Edie, Byleth, I'm so sorry," Dorothea said, eyes so genuinely regretful that Edelgard's first impulse is to apologize to her instead. "Manuela stepped out for a moment, and another patient came in-"

"It's quite all right, Dorothea. It should never have been your responsibility."

Hubert bows, but not deeply enough to take his eyes off of Byleth. "I fear my apologies do little to amend my grave error, but I offer them nonetheless. Do what you will."

Edelgard looks to her side and notices Byleth staring back at her with a question in her eyes. In all the excitement, she’d completely forgotten.

“How rude of me, forgetting to introduce myself,” she says. “I am Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said last time that this chapter would be short. It was! But so was the chapter after it, so I've decided to combine them. I don't have as much of a cushion now as I'm starting to catch up with what I've got written, but my momentum isn't slowing quite yet!


	6. Contemplate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth gets lost in thought.

The rest of Byleth’s day isn’t nearly as eventful. Hubert had been sour after that incident, but it was hard to tell. She wasn’t even sure who he was upset with - Manuela, Dorothea, her (he had given her a stern talking-to about wandering off, but his voice was less edged than with the others). Maybe he was mad with himself? As the emperor had more matters to attend to, the rest of the day was spent touring the major areas of the castle and being introduced to knights on castle patrol that Byleth could call on for an escort.

Little of it sticks. Instead, Byleth turns a name over and over in her head: _Edelgard. Edelgard._

It was a name she had heard before. Byleth had always been little-versed in politics, sheltered by her father from the larger workings of the world, and being locked away in the most hidden depths of the earth had done little to change that...with an exception. Spoken with arrogance and condescension at the start of the war, yet panicked, hushed tones following its end, Edelgard von Hresvelg's name was a constant presence in the hallways and laboratories the Agarthans stalked. Edelgard was an obedient pawn. Edelgard was a powerful tool. Edelgard was a liability. Edelgard had reclaimed Arundel lands and pulled an Agarthan outpost kicking and screaming into the light.

In rare, whimsical moments of curiosity (or fever), Byleth had wondered what kind of person this Edelgard had to strengthen or send scattering the entirety of the shadowed forces that reforged people like living weapons. Maybe she spent her time in a secluded room in a castle somewhere, orchestrating an impossible web of double-crosses and subterfuge that would erode the supports from under the Agarthans. As Byleth's captors grew more panicked, this idea changed. For some reason, the Edelgard she imagined next lived not in a castle, but in fortresses and blood-stained fields, scanning the retreating forces with a cutting gaze and striking them down with cold precision. The power that propped up the depraved institution was sharply hacked away instead of patiently worn down. This was a vengeful Edelgard, a force of white-cold fury that could not be predicted nor thrown of its course to its inevitable destination. Byleth wondered if she would get to see it - the whole hellish pit and everything in it reduced to dust. She wouldn’t have minded it. Even if it took her as well.

Since her escape from her tormentors’ painful grasp, Byleth had not thought of the woman again. It had simply not come up. When exhaustion inevitably led to her capture by a group of opportunistic bandits, there were no fantasies of an army raining down magic and arrows to put a stop to it. The worst she could expect was that one of them would get too cocky in the taverns and wind up with a few less teeth. (That particular brigand had never made a comment about her own misshapen fangs again.)

And yet, somehow, that’s exactly what seems to have happened. The emperor had located her and sent someone to whisk her away to a palace. _The_ palace. Why? Part of her said it was for punishment for being the product of the Agarthans - an idea she shoved aside as soon as she’d thought it due to not making any sense. It had only been a day, and yet her new handlers had already treated her more kindly than any of those previous had in her entire time under them.

She didn’t think she could be less sure of her reasons for being here, but upon hearing the name _Edelgard,_ she’d managed it. The emperor, the kind but suspicious and incredibly short woman that had helped her, and Edelgard von Hresvelg were all one and the same. She was not old, grim, or particularly frightening, and though she did talk in that distant-polite way that nobles often did, it was difficult to reconcile the paintings she had seen with the position of the person she had found staring outside, looking at nothing in particular.

If she had gotten one thing right in her imaginings of what Edelgard would be like, it was the sharpness about her. Edelgard’s gaze wasn’t cutting like a knife so much as it is bright and keen like a bird’s. They were the eyes of a fighter, taking apart the opponent in an instant before ever unsheathing the blade Byleth was certain was on her. Her body was similarly made of angles - pointed chin, ramrod-straight back, crisp dress, thin hands.

She was younger than expected - she couldn’t be too removed from Byleth in age - but that means nothing. Byleth had made a frightening reputation for herself by the time she was half of what she assumes Edelgard’s age to be. Her bone-pale hair wound tight against her scalp, pressed even tighter by the severe crown settled on top. It must have pinched terribly, she thinks. If Byleth got her hair half as under control as the emperor did, it would...likely still be enough to give her a headache.

But what struck Byleth the most, what was so odd about the entire encounter, was her reaction. She had shifted into a fighting stance in an instant, eyes defiant, prepared to lash without hesitation, and then...didn’t. Relaxed before Byleth spoke a word. Byleth could hardly call the reactions of anyone she’d met today “normal,” but they had been more or less prepared. More importantly, they hadn’t been alone. Edelgard had been caught by surprise, without warning or any of the guards Byleth assumed an emperor was supposed to have.

If it had been anyone else, they would have attacked Byleth without a second thought. If it had been anyone else, they wouldn’t have _relaxed_ upon realizing the presence behind them was a monster.

When Byleth turns her attention back to her surroundings, she’s standing alone in a well-furnished room. _Your quarters, for the time being,_ she recalls Hubert saying before bowing out. Still, a shifting of metal plates from outside tells Byleth there aren’t any more risks being taken with leaving her unsupervised.

Byleth shakes her head, clearing thoughts of emperors and motives and prisons both under and aboveground. She’s not given to ruminating like this, and she’s definitely not one to allow distractions in unfamiliar territory filled with more knights than she can count. All the traveling and excitement must be catching up.

Byleth pokes the curtains shut as carefully as she can to block the day’s last light without causing a tear. Sure enough, as soon as Byleth curls on top of the satin sheets, she’s out like a candle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth definitely did not absorb any of that directional advice.
> 
> I'll admit, even getting this much out was tough! I spilled a bit of water on my laptop Friday night and it may rust from age before I hear back from the repair shop on any water damage. Since that puts my writing schedule a bit up in the air, the next update may come a bit late.


	7. Reattempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard lays it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop is fine, my class is complete, and I was able to squeak this chapter in while it's still technically Wednesday. Enjoy!

It was nearly a full day before Edelgard saw Byleth again.

She hadn’t intended that to be the case. Her full intention was to go directly from her meeting with advisors to her scheduled meeting with Byleth. She would hold it in one of the sitting rooms, creating an atmosphere that was comfortable and nonthreatening when compared to the throne room. She would keep on her regalia, giving a first impression of power, and sit second, unwilling to appear small and unguarded by being seated already. Yet she would take her crown off and set it carefully to the side, communicating an informal atmosphere despite that power. Hubert would be there, of course, but standing to their side instead of his usual place to her right and directly facing her guest. That placement was typical for a reason; it put anyone she faced on enough of an edge to keep them at a distance and on their best behavior. Here, however, she needed to toe that hair’s-width line between taking precautions and causing undue stress.

So her plans had veered off-course. Almost dangerously so. It had been fine in the end, the day's only casualty being Hubert's nerves and pride, but she had been swept away by other duties soon after. Only someone as desperate and self-important as a waning noble could think a human experiment roaming the palace was less pressing than the stake of their land.

Today would be different. It was impossible to make a second first impression, she knew, but her hope was that it would only ease the pressure on both of them and make Edelgard seem more approachable.

Watching Byleth now, she isn't quite sure.

The woman isn't even looking her way, choosing instead to test her weight on the chair cushions to see how far they’ll sink. The wooden skeleton of it complains but holds sturdy as Byleth squirms to find a comfortable arrangement, claws in her lap and tail curling forward to droop off the seat. The image of a cat pawing at a spot before easing itself into place comes unbidden to her mind, yet it isn’t wrong; Byleth does look poised to either relax or run at the slightest inclination.

Once she’s as settled as she’ll ever be, Edelgard takes the chair across from her. Hubert still stands to the side as planned, face as impassive as ever, but the set of his shoulders is just a little too straight. She’ll clearly have to address yesterday more thoroughly with him, but she’s already left her guest waiting for too long.

Knowing Byleth’s blunt approach and not wanting to drag out the suspense, Edelgard cuts past the usual fripperies to get to the heart of the matter. “I know you’ve wondered why you were summoned here, and I aim to address every aspect of your stay. However, I’d like to know some basic information about you to know how best to proceed. If you aren’t opposed.”

Byleth simply looks on, letting the silence stretch. Edelgard supposes that isn’t outright rejection.

“Right. To start with, where are you from?”

A simple enough question, surely, and one not likely to me emotionally loaded. Yet Byleth’s brows furrow gently, not upset so much as puzzled. She shakes her head no. Odd.

Edelgard isn’t sure where the problem lies, but it’s ultimately of little consequence. Even had Byleth come from what was formerly Faerghan territory, it would change nothing regarding her treatment. It wasn’t unbelievable that someone of that background would want to keep that secret from the ice-cold conqueror of Fodlan. “It’s quite all right, you don’t have to tell me-”

“N-no,” Byleth interjects, quick to correct her. “No from.”

“No...from?” Now it’s her turn to be confused. “You didn’t come from anywhere? Do you have any relatives?”

She knew that could be touchy, especially with their background. That doesn’t stop the dip in her gut at the second shake of her head, one that somehow makes Byleth’s eyes look even darker. It’s necessary, it’s just... 

“I see.” Edelgard can’t lose her purpose here. Stay on track. “Then I suppose I can get to the heart of the matter. I’d like to extend an invitation to you to live here, in the palace, for the indefinite future.”

There’s a minuscule raising of Byleth’s brows, but otherwise she remains stoic.

“You’ll have free range of the estate” -Edelgard ignores the look Hubert sends her way- “as well as room, board, and anything you may need to make your stay more comfortable.”

Byleth looks more and more puzzled as she speaks, so Edelgard stops there, giving her the floor to ask any questions she may have. And she clearly has them, from the way she taps her nails together and lets her gaze fall to the side as if working out some deep problem. As Edelgard has no other commitments for the remainder of the day, she’ll give Byleth all the time she needs.

At length, Byleth looks back at Edelgard. “What do I do?”

“‘Do?’ I...suppose you can do what you like. We have quite an impressive library you’re welcome to, and I’m certain some of those you’ve already met would be more than happy with your company. Minister Bergliez has already mentioned a training regimen he’s planned, if you’d like the exercise.”

Byleth’s expression doesn’t change; she looks almost put out with the answer. She taps a claw against her leg. Then she pauses to look at it, considers it, and clears her expression. “Oh. So...fighting?”

“What? It’s true he’s fond of sparring, but it isn’t really-”

And then it hits her, what Byleth is _actually_ asking. Berates herself for not catching her meaning sooner.

“Oh, I...no, Byleth, my sincerest apologies. No, the Empire asks for nothing in return. You don’t have to do anything to receive this treatment, and I’ll never ask you to fight for my behalf. I promise this will be nothing like your prior circumstances.”

At Byleth’s blank stare, Edelgard sighs. “It’s natural that you’d wonder the reason behind such an offer. Truth be told, we’ve been working on a program to provide for those of your background for quite some time.”

Edelgard looks over to Hubert, who nods. She’d hoped to get through the conversation without broaching the topic, but it may be the only way to make her intentions clear.

“Minister Vestra informed me that you had an adverse reaction to a...certain group being mentioned,” Edelgard says, carefully watching Byleth’s face.

Byleth hisses, muscles locking up as her talons dig into her fine breeches, threatening to come apart under the force. “Sssorry,” is all she manages.

Something flashes within Edelgard, something white-hot and sharp, not unlike when she learned of the Church’s transgressions. It must have shown in her face, as Byleth all but winces at the sight. Edelgard comes back to herself and takes a steadying breath. 

“Byleth,” she says slowly, dragging out the name. “You have _nothing_ to apologize for. It was wrong of Hubert to press you on such a painful subject in that manner. And I, by extension. We never have to bring it up again, if that’s what you wish. Just know that the Empire will do everything in its power to give you aid and prevent such atrocities from ever happening again.”

She waits until Byleth nods, movements jerky and unsure. Her claws no longer threaten to cut the pants fabric to ribbons, though, so Edelgard untenses just slightly.

“I only mention them because of what we plan to do,” she continues, tone softer. “As the most severe threat to the safety of Fodlan, I intend to eradicate them entirely, but that won’t be the end. Countless others like you will be freed, but will find themselves unable to integrate into their previous lifestyles - or have their communities refuse to integrate them. Due to the changes some may have undergone, they’ll need more specialized care that the average healer can provide.

“Our plan is to create a place where those affected can find refuge, complete with a facility holding the top Crest researchers, scientists, and medical professionals from across Fodlan to provide the treatment their unique circumstances require. We intend to renovate Garreg Mach and its surrounding village for this purpose, but it’s still in the early stages - we hadn’t thought we would see the need this soon until we heard of your plight. You may move to Garreg Mach once it’s complete, but until then I can assure you that nowhere is more suited to this purpose than the palace.”

Edelgard worried about bombarding Byleth with information, but the woman had kept her focus, eyes more intense than Edelgard had seen. There was still a caution to them, but Byleth nodded in the end, which was as much of an agreement as Edelgard assumed she would get. She thanks Byleth for her time and waves her on to head to supper. Surely Byleth is famished by now. No, she won’t be attending herself quite yet; there are some matters she needs to attend to. Byleth heads out the door, and Hubert makes to follow.

As he passes Edelgard on his way out, he speaks lowly, ensuring only she can hear. “You told her that the Empire would ask nothing of her.”

Edelgard felt her jaw tighten. “It’s true, is it not? This was an offer, not an exchange.”

“True. But that doesn’t mean we have no need of her.”

Edelgard whips to look at him, but Hubert doesn’t give her the basic courtesy of flinching. He merely glances down at her, his eyes as sharp and cold as the daggers he keeps hidden.

“We’ll have this talk later,” Edelgard all but growls. “Find me after supper. We have some details to discuss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “But Pan, if Garreg Mach turns into a rehabilitation-center-slash-living-community, what happens to the Officer’s Academy that’s supposed to reopen post-canon?”
> 
> The answer is that Edelgard decided to strengthen the educational system by focusing her efforts into rebuilding and properly funding public schools across Fodlan, ensuring that all citizens have access to education instead of funneling everything into reinstating a single institution made for the intelligent elite. Without providing the framework for student hopefuls across all backgrounds and lands to prepare themselves for higher education, the Officer’s Academy means nothing.
> 
> Plus, she kinda doesn’t want the reborn Officer’s Academy to have all those big church murals and statues in it.


	8. Leisure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth attempts to follow the emperor's suggestion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for missing last week's update! This chapter needed to be overhauled twice, but I'm glad I put in the extra effort. I'd rather be late or miss than put out a chapter with a ton of problems, but if that ever comes up again I'll try and update the summary to reflect that so you aren't wondering where it went. In any case, here's a more relaxing chapter.

Byleth pats out a rhythm against her lap.

Edelgard had said that Byleth didn’t have to do anything or answer to anyone. She was told to roam the palace grounds as she wished, spending her time however she desired with whoever she desired. Byleth, of course, had complied, but now she was finding the request to be harder to follow than she’d thought. She isn’t entirely certain she has any desires.

What do people do with spare time?

Byleth thinks back on how she spent time before. Both the circus and the dungeons had been marked by long periods of stillness. Not that the circus was stationary, but between traveling in the barred wagon and sitting around between shows, there was little to do.

All that time spent nearly immobile, and yet when given the opportunity to do anything at all, she stays put in her room.

Byleth shakes her head. She'll have to think further back.

Life in the mercenary band was a life of constant motion. As far as she was concerned, that was how it had always been, toddling after her father as he marched or sharpened his weapons or kept the other men in line. Back when he was still making the valiant attempt to keep her out of the armory tent, her father would assign “missions” that small Byleth would carry out with as much gravitas as a child could muster - catch fish (to feed the army), read (a crucial skill for dealing with contracts), draw the landscape (what if they got lost and had to find their way back to camp?). At the time, these tasks seemed absolutely vital to keeping the company running. As an adult, Byleth recognizes them as transparent ploys to keep her occupied with halfway normal interests. When she got older, Byleth would spend more of her time sparring and carrying out more complex camp duties, but when she ran out of willing opponents she’d default to one of those three things.

Seems as good a place as any to start. She isn’t sure whether any fishing spots or art supplies are around, but she’s pretty certain Hubert had mentioned a library during the tour. Somewhere. At some point.

Byleth opens the closet. A maid had come by some time earlier and stuffed it with new clothes, all while apologizing that this was all they had ready so far (were there more coming?) and trying to get the hangers situated despite the shake in her hands. The pieces are basic yet undeniably sharp, their style more in line with the people she'd seen bustling around the palace on business. And there's so many choices. She'd only gotten measured, what, two days ago? There's even riding breeches, though Byleth shudders to think of the poor horse they expect her to ride.

Byleth picks a top at random. There are, thankfully, no buttons to maneuver, and the fabric is deceptively sturdy for how fine the item looks. It fits like a glove.

Her tail twitches unconsciously as she picks out pants. There's no chance it can fit in the slim legs. She sighs and readies a claw at the backside. She hopes they aren't mad she did this to such nice pants, but…

But there's something there on the back already. A strange seam that looks almost like a pocket, starting right below the beltline. She pokes at it, turning the garment this way and that, but there's no denying its purpose. It's just bizarre to see it there at all.

She tugs on the pants and experimentally threads her tail through the seam. It fits. The tailored opening hugs the base of her tail perfectly without showing any of the surrounding skin.

Byleth gives silent thanks to the tailor and the jumpy maid that had bravely measured her naked body, then walks out with a new confidence.

A confidence that scares the poor guard stationed just across her door. Metal clangs together in what is possibly the loudest jolt of surprise ever witnessed.

"Oh! Greetings, miss! The room was so quiet, I hadn't realized you were awake." Despite the helmet that obscures half of his face, his voice gives away his sheepishness. He sounds younger than expected. "Would you like to head to breakfast?"

Byleth nods, and they’re off. Breakfast is a quick affair; her late rise means Byleth is the only one in the dining room. When she’s done, she peeks out to spot the guard talking to another over at the end of the hallway. Byleth doesn’t want to interrupt. Besides, she went on that tour. She can find the library again. Probably.

She quietly walks off in the other direction and goes up the stairs - on purpose, this time. The library is somewhere on the second floor. The palace is essentially a square, so the exact direction isn't important. She's bound to run into it eventually.

It takes some trial and error. All the doors look just as rich and sturdy as one would expect a library door to be, so Byleth has to peek in a few to tell. Most lack anything interesting behind them, though a few people are quite surprised to see Byleth poke in their offices before wordlessly backing out.

As Byleth passes another door, she picks up on the sound of voices just beyond it. The thick wood muffles them, but she swears one of them is familiar. She pokes her head inside.

A dozen shocked faces stare back at her. Men of fine dress and thinning hair surround a long table, ringed fingers clutching at its edge. Seated at the head is none other than Edelgard, raised brows standing out against an otherwise steely face.

Byleth feels a chill through her bones and shrinks in the doorframe. “Ah...sorry…”

Edelgard rises from her seat. “Apologies, gentlemen. This is an urgent matter I must attend to. This meeting is dismissed.”

Pale faces glance between the emperor and the intruder, but no sound can be heard except for the sharp click of her boots. Byleth steps back into the hall, allowing Edelgard to exit and shut the door behind. She motions for Byleth to follow.

Byleth is definitely, definitely in trouble. She’s interrupted something important with some very rich people, and Edelgard is going to tell her-

“Thank goodness you came when you did,” says Edelgard, sharp pose slackening. “I can’t tell you how much I despise those leeches.”

Byleth blinks. “Huh?”

“Nobles on their way out of power, though they waste my time trying to grip onto what they can. I apologize for using you as an excuse, but you did seem a little...lost. Are you looking for something?”

“U-um.” It takes Byleth a moment to remember what she came out for. “Library?”

“Excellent; we’re already heading the right way. I wouldn’t mind new reading material, myself.”

A turn and half a hallway later, they arrive at a set of distinctive double doors. They push open more easily than their appearance would suggest, and Byleth holds the door for Edelgard before entering herself.

The library reminds Byleth of the forest. Tight rows of mahogany bookcases fill the room, towering above even her. Tome covers of muted reds, greens, and browns pattern the shelves from top to bottom. Sunlight streams in from a wall-length window on the far side of the room, filtering through the spaces between the books.

Edelgard breaks the silence. “Were you seeking anything in particular?”

Byleth hadn’t gotten that far. As a mercenary, she mostly read books on strategy and warfare. She didn’t think those would be helpful now. Maybe something related to where she was? Her father had taught her everything there was to know about how to survive, but she'd never learned much about the world at large. Politics was probably a poor subject to be bad at when you lived in the most influential place in the continent.

"History of Adrestia," she says, secretly pleased when her voice doesn't hitch, even a little. Then, "please."

Edelgard gives an amused little huff. "You've certainly come to the right place. It would be more difficult to narrow the selection down to a mere dozen. How familiar are you with the subject?"

Byleth shakes her head. She should feel embarrassed to admit such to the emperor, but she's nothing but understanding.

"I have something in mind. It doesn't cover some of the subtler factors behind major movements, but it's a competent primer. While most volumes focus on a single era, this one provides a clear overview..."

It’s easy to spend her time like this, settled among the sun-warmed shelves, listening to Edelgard. Unsurprisingly, she’s well-versed on the history of not only Adrestia but the former Kingdom, and before Byleth knows it she’s retrieved the book as well as had the wary librarian recommend titles to follow up on once Byleth has finished this one.

Something about the time spent here puts her at ease, and Byleth finds herself speaking before she thinks. “Will you be at lunch?”

Edelgard pauses. “Pardon?”

Byleth feels her face heat. What a silly question. “It’s, ah...you haven’t...e-everyone else eats t-together, so…”

“No, you’re right.” It could be the way the sunlight hits, but there's a faint dusting of pink on Edelgard's face. “I think I will.”


	9. Exploration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth doesn't get as lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still considering this Wednesday because I haven't gone to sleep yet! Here is the very on time update!

Settling into the rhythm of life at the castle, Byleth had taken to wandering its halls of her own accord. She usually didn't know where she was going, but the servants were growing a little less skittish and better at reading her. It was no longer unusual for a maid to be going about their day and spot their beastly guest drifting towards some forgotten corner of the palace, looking like a bear confused as to how they got so far from the forest. They would point out the nearest notable location and receive a polite nod as the monster changed course.

Despite her tendency to get turned around (not lost - she was excellent at slipping away without notice, somehow, but they were getting better at finding her), Byleth had found many interesting places this way. One was the training grounds. Though wielding a weapon herself would be redundant at best and cumbersome at worst, there was something nostalgic about watching the soldiers go through their exercises and spar each other. The smell of metal and sweat, the display of a variety of fighting styles...the shouting and laughing and shoulder-jostling weren't as present here, but Byleth had never been a part of that back in her dad's group.

"Byleeeeth! Heeeey!"

Byleth nearly jumps out of her skin when Caspar calls over from the other side of the field, spotting her clearly sticking out from behind a pillar. He jogs over, all clanging metal and exuberant energy, and wipes the sweat from his forehead.

"You don't have to hide if you wanna watch, you know!" Caspar says. "There's some benches over there where ministers and nobles and things like to observe. You get a much better view that way."

Byleth shifts her feet. The benches sit in the middle of the field in plain daylight, looking over the rows of training dummies. The soldiers might not be happy with seeing a huge, silent monster observing them out of the corner of their eye while trying to focus.

Seeing her hesitance, Caspar's face brightens in understanding. "Ahh, I see. You wanna train too, huh? Not another word! You and me are gonna spar, right here!"

Byleth wants to say no, no thank you, you are very small, but Caspar is already dragging her by the wrist and had said "no more words" very clearly. She soon finds herself standing at one edge of a large square marked in the dirt. On the other side, Caspar rolls his shoulders and pulls on his gauntlets. A crowd’s already gathering.

"You ready? First to knock the other to the ground wins!"

The gauntlet’s claws are visibly dull; they wouldn’t leave much more than a bruise against the average opponent. Byleth doesn’t keep her own talons sharp, but they’re curved and threatening, an extension of her body rather than thinned metal. There’s little that can compete.

Byleth raises her arms and slides into a defensive stance. At her nod, Caspar charges.

Iron claws slide easily off her own as she meets him slash for slash, blocking but never going on the offensive. Caspar’s torrent of jabs seemed meant to overwhelm his opponent and knock them off-balance. He couldn’t keep such a pace for long. Once his movements start to lag, Byleth grabs him by the shoulder and gently but firmly presses down. Caspar struggles against the weight, twisting to break free, then trying to knock her hand off. She keeps pressing down until his knees buckle, then until he is lying flat on his back, looking less like an overpowered man and more like a toddler that has been lovingly laid to bed, his indignant flailing like the resulting tantrum. A chuckle goes through the crowd, and Caspar colors, not entirely from the effort of fighting. Did she overdo it?...

"O-okay, we get it! That's enough!"

Byleth lets up off of him, watching as he rises to a sitting position. There's no wincing or weakness in his movements. The most she gets is a halfhearted glare that softens into an exasperated grin. "Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

Byleth isn't sure what he means until she feels it: she's smiling. She extends her arm, letting him grab a hold of the wrist and pulling him back up to standing.

"All right, that's enough going soft on you. Round two, let's go!"

* * *

Another spot that was quickly becoming a favorite was the sitting area of the gardens. The gardens themselves were nice enough, with warm patches and shady trees that Byleth liked to sit under, taking in the quiet. The ground here was free of lumps and sharp stones, unlike the true outdoors - only soft grass and loose dirt.

It's Dorothea who points her to the sitting area. “I’d love to have tea with you sometime,” she says, “and since you like the gardens so much, I know just the place.”

A round table sits encircled by small, delicate-looking wrought iron chairs, bent cleverly into little patterns and shapes that made it look more display of excellent artistry than something Byleth should sit on.

“Don’t worry,” Dorothea says, as if reading her thoughts. “We had breakfast here with some old friends from Leicester just a couple weeks ago, and one of them nearly rivals you in height. He’s a big guy and a lot less careful with things than you are, and these chairs stood just fine.”

Byleth settles into the chair slowly. It seems to hold firm, so she brings her attention to the spread before her and the warm scents coming from it. Impossibly tiny cakes and buns pile high on a multi-shelved pastry stand in the center. Why are they so small? A pot rests beside the display, the steam bringing an inviting fruity scent with it.

“Albinean Berry,” Dorothea says, already pouring Byleth a cup. “I wasn’t sure what sort of tea you like, but this blend is rather popular.”

Byleth threads a claw through the teacup’s handle and raises it to her lips.

“Careful! It’s still-”

“Mmm.” Byleth’s already drained half of the cup, letting the warmth spread through her. She’d never been picky about tea varieties, but even she can tell it’s a good one.

Dorothea sighs and blows on her own before taking a sip. She recoils. “Goodness, Byleth, you’re going to burn your whole mouth. At least wait until it isn’t practically still boiling!”

It didn’t seem all _that_ hot, but Byleth complies anyway, picking out a tiny sponge cake at the edge of the tray and popping it in her mouth. It’s light, the icing sweet but not overly so. Byleth decides she doesn’t mind waiting on the tea.

The conversation is as light as the pastries. Dorothea talks about the garden, which is tended to by a special friend of hers that Byleth simply must meet, and follows it with a comparison between one of the blooms and the hue of Byleth’s eyes that makes her face feel oddly warm. But it’s nice. She sneaks sips of her tea and nods in all the right places as Dorothea recounts a story about catching Hubert setting up a secret picnic for his fiance and picking out every rock from underneath the blanket.

After she finishes recounting gossip, Dorothea sighs. “Oh, I wish we could have Edie over. She and I used to do this all the time during the war. Not that you aren’t an absolutely lovely partner! It’s just...she could use the break, you know? She’s always engrossed in one thing or another. If it’s not council meetings or telling some grouchy noble he can’t pay off the Empire to keep his status anymore, it’s mountains of paperwork.”

“No nobles?”

“Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t have kept up with politics, would you? One reason Edie went to war was to revolutionize the class system. Nobles with crests had all the power and wealth, using it to control others and leaving commoners with nothing.” Byleth stops eating as she notices Dorothea’s tone grow flat, a bitterness seeping in that she didn’t think the woman was capable of. In a blink, the spark is back. “But Edie’s putting a stop to that. People won’t have their fate decided by Crests, and those governing a region will serve the people, not oppress them. And Edie’s pulling out the rot herself, roots and all.”

“Oh,” says Byleth. “Sounds busy.”

"That's Edie for you," Dorothea sighs. "She’s always working so hard to make a better world, but she doesn't rest! It's frustrating. I'm sure Edie needs a romantic partner like she needs a hole in her foot, but would it hurt her terribly if she spent time with someone in a social, entirely non-political setting, purely for fun? I adore her, but I worry she considers meeting with her cabinet to change the fabric of politics a social activity."

Byleth only follows about a third of what Dorothea’s saying, but she nods agreeably and plucks another pastry from the dish. Unfortunately, it's a jam-filled variety, and the filling seeps through where the claw pokes into it. Byleth sets the deflated pastry glumly onto her plate.

"Goodness, you're like a bear with honey on its paws," Dorothea huffs fondly. “Come here.”

Dorothea takes a napkin and dutifully wipes the sticky mess from Byleth’s hands, then some crumbs from her face. The rest of tea is spent talking about lighter subjects and giggling as she feeds Byleth jam pastries by hand.

* * *

The most pleasant discovery, and perhaps the most unused by the castle's inhabitants, was the pond. It was wide and well-kempt, with a surface like the glittering mosaics that dotted the castle's interior. The smallest movement of an insect skirting past it would send ripples all the way across to its edges, catching the sunlight even more. Its smooth shores were free of weeds and ringed with flat rocks, with the occasional break for a tiny round bush or thin bunches of purposefully-placed reeds. Byleth had never seen anyone venture to this corner of the castle grounds, but it was clear that even these remote spaces were tended to.

Byleth supposed that was a shame, but it was hard not to appreciate the quiet. No prying eyes, no hectic bustling through the halls, no looks of shock or pity or curiosity or anything else. Just the look of her own impassive reflection in the water.


	10. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard gets protective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I was called into work by surprise after months of being laid off and then I slept for 14 hours :) And then I finished this! Enjoy!

Linhardt’s office is, to Edelgard’s complete lack of surprise, empty. She huffs a sigh. She’d leave the packet of papers on his desk and call it a day if she wasn’t certain that he wouldn’t check anything left there. With most of his work done in the library or the lab, the office was where people unfamiliar with the researcher’s mode of operation sent paperwork to die. It was unavoidable - she’d just have to track him down and hand him the papers directly.

The library was the closest, so she elected to try there first. Though a bit of a trek, it wasn’t a complete waste; Edelgard already had a mind to visit after her duties for the day were complete. If she was correct and found Linhardt there, she could spend the rest of the evening reading in relative peace.

Dorothea often complained about the lack of leisure reading the library had to offer (which was "just like her," apparently, though Edelgard hardly saw how the contents of a millennia-old library were her fault). Edelgard disagreed. The pulp Dorothea and Bernadetta read may not be to her taste, but there were plenty of subjects she read for the sake of it. Like history. And ethics. And...statecraft. She did peruse some of the volumes on gardening Bernadetta had requested, so no one could say she only had thoughts of power and politics. She merely preferred the humanities.

At least one person was of like mind. Byleth had truly taken to the topic of Fodlan’s history, if the gaps in previously-untouched sections of shelves were anything to go by. Edelgard would occasionally catch a glimpse of her hunched over a thick tome, studying with more fervor than she recalled her classmates ever having. Edelgard and Hubert were usually of one mind, but it was difficult to take his warnings of her seriously when she was like that, handling each page as if it would shatter under her grip.

She wanted to ask what Byleth thought of what she’d learned; so much of what people understood of history was warped by patriotism or the now-defunct Church that had had its claws in everything. The books the palace had held protectively all these years painted a more thorough (and less kind) picture of the past. Hearing the opinions of someone who was untainted by tales of blessed heroes and benevolent gods was a rare and enticing opportunity.

Edelgard shakes her head. The combined thoughts of _a deep conversation with Byleth_ and _enticing opportunity_ sit strangely with her, bringing to mind the image of a self-satisfied Dorothea, though she isn’t sure why. _It would be enlightening from a purely academic perspective,_ she thinks, her mind defensive against not-Dorothea on reflex.

In any case, it was unlikely that Byleth would be present when Edelgard got there. It seemed the bulk of her reading was done elsewhere, likely her quarters or the pond her siblings were once so fond of (including her, before Matthias had pushed her in). It was nice to have someone to appreciate it again, she supposes.

She reaches the library and has a gloved hand on the door when she picks up two voices from inside. While not strange in itself, the first sentence she makes out has her slipping into the one bad habit she acquired from Hubert: eavesdropping.

“Caspar's done nothing but talk on and on about you since you arrived, you know. Just listening to him has me more exhausted than usual.”

"Oh...so...rry?"

"You're forgiven."

A pause. Footsteps.

"Fascinating. To be able to sustain growth like this...what Crest do you bear?"

The voice and complete lack of boundary are clearly Linhardt’s, and she has an uncomfortable feeling as to where he might be going.

In absence of any audible response, Linhardt continues. "I assure you, it's largely for your benefit. Thinking about it now, maybe your body _can't_ sustain it. If what Manuela told me is correct, your heart may not be able to keep up with your size." He's mostly talking to himself, now. "Though there are other possibilities - it would best to investigate as soon as possible-"

It’s time to stop this.

"Come now, I'm not going to poke and prod you just yet. It's merely a question-"

_“Linhardt!”_

Byleth starts and whips around at Edelgard’s sudden burst into the room, the anxiety in her eyes clear as day despite the lack of expression elsewhere. But the emperor isn’t looking at her. She’s looking at the sleepy-looking, moss-haired man just past her, standing far closer than what Byleth is likely comfortable with.

The sharp sound of her boots is even more deafening in the quiet of the library. She thrusts the packet of files towards the wholly unbothered researcher. “You’re in charge of research, Linhardt. Not interrogation.”

“And how am I to find answers to questions I don’t ask?” he says, taking the envelope.

“By not scaring away those you’re sworn to help, for one.” Edelgard looks back towards Byleth, an apology in her eyes. “Since I doubt he introduced himself, let me start. This is Linhardt von Hevring, head of the Empire’s institute for Crest research.”

“It’s interesting to meet you,” Linhardt says, already scanning the papers. Edelgard suppresses a twitch. "I suppose you expect me to take care of these now?"

"That would be best," Edelgard all but growls.

"Mmm…fine. All this excitement is making me drowsy anyway." Linhardt stretches. "I'll be sure to handle these after a nap."

They watch as Linhardt lazily brushes past and leaves the library. It’s just her and Byleth, now, but after such behavior towards her guest - from someone directly under her command, no less - she feels she hasn’t done enough.

"Honestly...Linhardt can be rather single-minded. I’m not sure whether he’s inable to read social cues or simply chooses not to." Edelgard sighs, releasing some of the tension in her posture. "I had hoped someone would be present to rein him in when you first met, but it seems I was a moment too late. I really must apologize-"

"No."

Byleth's outburst startles them both, if the widening of her eyes is anything to go by. But she takes a deep breath and flicks her deep gaze up to Edelgard’s.

"Thank you. For...helping. I was nervous."

Something in Edelgard stirs. Whether it’s the honest appreciation in the woman’s typically stoic face or the clear effort it took her to say even that much, she’s touched and slightly embarrassed. She notices how close they are now, and wonders when that happened.

"O-of course. It's only-" Edelgard clears her throat. "-only right. The least I can do, considering how you rescued me from an unfortunate meeting yourself just days ago.”

Edelgard doesn’t think about the palpable unease her appearance caused in the nobility. She had expected it sooner or later, though finding an explanation to mollify them that didn’t include any hints of the Strike Force’s secret work was going to be challenging.

Those concerns vanish to nothing when Byleth offers a smile. A tiny hint of one, more of a suggestion, but one all the same.

What have they ever known, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> or, "edelgard just barely refrains from stomping lin's flat ass into the hardwood floor"
> 
> Sorry, green bean man. I really do love him but nobody can argue he's the most tactful person in the world.
> 
> Also, thank you all so much for 6k hits! I'm delighted so many people are into my writing, and I love seeing the comments you post. Even if I don't respond to them all, I appreciate each one :')


	11. Capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth fights and falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *spills trauma back into the fic* aw fuck, shit, oh no, how could this happen
> 
> Byleth has a really bad one in this chapter! Content warnings for nightmares, flashbacks, death (past), panic attacks, PTSD. Violence isn’t all that explicit because it already happened, but it’s still there.
> 
> I can’t think of anything else to mention, but as always, let me know if I should add anything else. Take care of yourself - if any of these are triggering, skip to the chapter notes at the end for a full summary.

_Byleth doesn’t howl when dark magic shatters the nerves in her hand, sending her sword clattering out of reach. She is used to battle, and she won’t show the pain clawing up her limb if it means putting her weakened state on display._

_“Byleth,” comes a shuddering plea behind her._

_She doesn’t look back to see her father’s condition. Doing so means taking her eyes off the enemy. The warlock before her looks ancient, his thin, pallid skin contrasting the dark cloak that barely moves as he approaches, seemingly unaffected by wind or movement. Scores of mages and soldiers in unknown uniform stand at his back._

_These aren’t the bandits or militias she’s used to cutting down._

_“Have you run out of power so soon, Fell Star?”_

_The warlock’s question is directed at Byleth, but out of all the names she’s been called, this one is unfamiliar. But the accusation is true. Her body screams from exertion, and the strange magic the green-haired girl had lent her was parried, time and again, by this monster. He regards her with blackened eyes, strange and sunken in his skull._

_“Do not think you can hide your true nature from me. You may have thought yourself clever, disguising your presence among these wretched beasts” -the warlock jabs his cane into what remains of a Blade Breaker- “but you can ill hide the abilities you wield, the ugly glow of the Crest you bear. You were a fool to think you could defeat us now.”_

_It can’t end this way._

_“Byleth.” Jeralt’s voice is more insistent. He breathes in, a wet, rasping thing. “Don’t waste your breath protecting me. Get out of here, kid. ”_

_“Oh, you won’t leave so easily,” says the warlock. “Your blood and strength are far too valuable to let slip through our grasp.”_

_As if the words were all that held them back, the soldiers advance towards Byleth. She whips around, but the motion causes one leg to buckle, and she nearly collapses. There’s little chance she could walk in her condition, let alone make an escape, but the formation of soldiers that had circled behind them dashed even the smallest chance._

_Armored arms lift her up on each side. She kicks and yanks to no effect until her body slumps from the continued effort._

_Dad’s never looked so defeated._

_“I’ll escape,” Byleth says. “I’ll be okay.”  
_

_He swallows. “I know.”_

_"What do we do with the old guy?" a voice interrupts before a gray-skinned woman comes into view, twirling a dagger. She's practically vibrating. Like a hound waiting for their leash to snap._

_"Jeralt Reus Eisner,” the warlock says. “Former Knight of Seiros, granted the blood of our enemy. In alternate circumstances, he would make a passable subject."_

_The man slinks closer, watching impassively as Jeralt takes a shuddering breath._

_"We no longer have need of the Church's leftovers. Kill him."_

* * *

Byleth’s awake and the walls are too close.

It’s dark.

Cold.

Silent, though they’d learned long ago that those who kept quiet lasted the longest. Byleth isn’t sure how many of them are even left, with how little noise they make.

She can’t afford to. She made a promise.

Byleth rises and slams into the wall, body meeting unyielding stone. Does it again. Again. It’s not doing anything, she can’t get _out-_

The window is far, far too small. Try a different wall. She does, and there’s a shattering sound somewhere far away, but it’s not moving either. Tries it again. Again.

Footsteps in the hall. Again. It’s too late, and they’re already coming to put her down, but she can’t find it in her to give up yet. Again. The hard sound of armor moving.

Again, again, until the door slams open and light blinds her, sends her scrambling to the corner furthest from it. Her eyes want to close, but even now her upbringing rebels violently against the thought of taking eyes off the enemy.

The figures in the doorway have their weapons readied, and a mage stands with magic in hand. No one moves. As Byleth’s eyes adjust, she recognizes the magic as a simple fire spell, not yet charged enough to have use outside of lighting the room.

Her room. The room in the palace.

The realization comes with a feeling like surfacing after being jerked around by a strong current - her body feels too light, unused to the solid ground, and her mind is disoriented from the sudden change.

“Byleth. Did someone hurt you?”

She doesn’t grasp the words, but between the low voice and severe features that slowly come into focus, the figure’s identity becomes more clear.

“Hubert,” she chokes.

Hubert signals with his free hand, and the guards fall back to wait in the hallway. It’s just them, now.

“I’d like to come closer,” he says. “May I?”

Byleth nods. Her body, however, hasn’t caught up with the news, and she tenses harshly when Hubert steps forward.

“Breathe,” he says, not moving another inch. It’s only then she notices she’s shivering. “Are you certain it’s all right?”

She pauses. Is it? He’s the one who took her here, away from days of cages and jeering and starving in the forest. She isn’t entirely sure she won’t be punished this time, but the knights were dismissed. And…

He and Edelgard swore she wouldn’t come to harm, didn’t they?

Byleth nods again, and she means it.

Hubert approaches slower this time, though he steps oddly halfway through. Byleth follows his gaze down and sees the shattered glass and spilt liquid from her oil lamp scattered on the ground. It must have fallen off the dresser in the commotion.

Hubert makes no comment on it. Instead, he crouches a few feet away from Byleth, matching her eye level. The warmth from the small flame still held in his palm isn’t enough to combat the cold she feels, but she latches onto it all the same.

“Did someone enter your room?” he asks quietly. His tone, as usual, gives little indication as to his feelings, but it’s calm and measured in a way that’s grounding.

 _Breathe,_ she remembers. She shakes her head.

“Did something within the room frighten you?”

Another shake.

“...A nightmare?”

That was part of it, wasn’t it? She opens her mouth to speak, but it takes a few tries.

“Thought…” She’s shivering. “I was...s-somewhere el...else.”

Hubert nods. When Byleth chances eye contact, she’s met with a strange, unreadable expression.

“What can I get you?”

She’s still freezing with a cold that goes deeper than the ambient temperature in the room. “Blan...ket.”

“Of course.” His gaze catches on the floor at his side. “I’ll have another lamp brought in as well.”

The appreciation she feels can’t be put into words. She does want one, terribly, but she never expected it to be offered, was terrified to ask. She’d broken the one they gave her. Yet there isn’t even a question as to whether it should be replaced; they give freely without as much as a thought. No, they do think, but it’s of what Byleth would like, how to make her day a little easier.

As Hubert rises and turns towards the door, Byleth makes a small noise to catch his attention. A piercing green looks back at her. She hates to ask more than he’s already given, but she’s too drained to fight anymore.

Much to her gratitude, Hubert discerns her wish before she tries to force more words out than she already has. “You don’t want to be alone.”

At her nod, she swears she sees a ghost of a smirk on his face. "My appearance is hardly suited for comfort, but if you wish me to stay, I will."

When he finishes giving commands to the waiting guards, he pulls up a chair and sits, showing no intentions of leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth has a nightmare about the day Those Who Slither defeated the Blade Breakers. Solon recognizes her as the Fell Star because of the powers and Crest she used in combat. They capture her, and Kronya kills a wounded Jeralt.
> 
> Byleth wakes up and attempts to escape her room, thinking she’s back in the dungeons. Hubert and two guards come in to check out the commotion. Hubert discerns that Byleth had a nightmare and arranges for an extra blanket and oil lamp to replace the one that broke to be brought to the room. Byleth is stunned yet again at the kindness of those in the castle. Hubert stays at Byleth’s bedside at her request.


	12. Processing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth goes out for air and makes a decision.

"Your Majesty. A word, please."

"Hm? What is it?"

"You know my only aim is to ensure we remain on the correct path. I've sworn to not only carry out your will, but discern the best solution for doing so."

"Go on."

"Obligation demands, then, that I advise against our current course of action regarding our guest."

"What do you suggest?"

"I suggest we get back on task. I'm not sure why our original plan has become so offensive to you, but we must return to it at once."

"What brought this on? I've made my position perfectly clear."

"There was a minor incident last night. A commotion in the west wing revealed that Byleth has a rather intense nightmare."

"Byleth had a nightmare...and you're suggesting we dredge up the past further?"

"In order to put an end to this suffering, some discomfort is unavoidable. I'm hardly advising a brutal treatment."

"Absolutely not. Putting an end to this is our job. We can't foist that responsibility onto her."

“Do we not owe it to her to see justice done? To free those still trapped in the shadows?”

“If you've forgotten, our duty is to aid Those Who Slither’s victims, not use them in some grand scheme."

"Is that so? Interesting. From what I heard from Linhardt, providing aid isn't in the cards either. He was all but chased off from examining Byleth."

“He...You should know better than to take Linhardt’s dramatics at face value. He was crossing a line, and I intervened.”

“The Crest researcher was crossing a line in asking to research a Crest?”

“Don’t be cheeky, Hubert.”

“Very well. I simply feel our plans have changed without my knowledge. Coddling was never mentioned.”

“I am _not_ coddling her.”

"In that case, I'll let Linhardt and Manuela know the treatment plan can begin."

"...Fine. But I stand firm on my decision."

"I expected as much from our leader. I'll see to it, then."

"Very well. You're dismissed."

"..."

"Is there something else?"

"I may be overstepping my bounds, but it's quite unlike you to be so reluctant - or to change your mind so drastically. I have no doubts that we will see our mission through to the end, but take care not to falter."

"You're dismissed, Hubert. Goodbye."

* * *

It takes some internal convincing for Byleth to get out of bed.

In the light of day, things didn't seem so horrific. The glass had been cleaned hours ago, and the memory of...however many years ago it was...was just that. There wasn’t any immediate danger like she’d thought when she woke up, and she’d slipped out of their hold months ago. She had, eventually, done what she swore she’d do. In part.

Then why did it hurt so terribly?

The ache the memory left wasn't new, but no matter what she went through, it was the one wound that sent a fresh wave of pain when prodded, reopening again and again but never in quite the same way. This time, it pushed heavily on her chest, keeping her pinned to the bed she hadn’t quite gone back to sleep in and sitting strangely with the odd thumping that was already there.

She feels a strange, paradoxical desire to stay within the four stone walls of her room, a nasty voice telling her that staying confined was all she knew now, anyway, that she knew well the consequences of escaping. But despite what her nightmare-addled brain had believed last night, it wasn't like that now. There weren’t any punishments waiting just down the hall, not even for breaking the lamp and spilling oil everywhere and waking everyone.

The thought of coming so far only to make her own kind of captivity makes a different sort of weight settle onto her. This one, at least, she can do something about.

With great effort, Byleth puts on a clean outfit and walks out of the room. She's not quite brave enough to stomach the idea of food, but getting up and moving, even a little, should help shake the painful ruts her mind is trying to place her back into.

There’s no destination in mind, but she finds herself shying away from the sounds of voices and bootsteps - an unconscious decision that naturally leads her to the ignored pond at the edge of the grounds once again. The water is as placid as ever. A few stray blades of grass tickle against her lower back when she sits, but even still, she finds herself relaxing as she breathes in the fresh flower-tinged air of the garden.

A rustling comes from behind her, and Byleth snaps back to find Edelgard looking just as surprised as her.

"Oh, there you are. My apologies, Byleth, I hadn't meant to intrude."

"It's okay," Byleth assures. Solitude was nice, but the emperor was becoming one of those who she found easy to be around. "Not...busy."

Byleth pats the ground next to her to emphasize her point. Edelgard looks taken aback, but she slips back into her cool demeanor and smooths down her dress before kneeling in a fluid motion. Byleth wasn’t aware that someone could plop down on the ground gracefully, but if anyone could do it, it was likely the emperor. And maybe Dorothea, but it was hard to imagine her sitting in the dirt to begin with.

Edelgard sits a bit further from the shore than Byleth, coloring slightly when their eyes meet. “I’ll admit that I don’t come this way often. I’m not fond of the water, but I do see the appeal of a place like this.”

Byleth nods understandingly, then looks back into the water. There’s something she’s been wondering about since she started spending time here. “Is there...fish?”

“A few, but the pond hasn’t been stocked in a long time. Even then, it was mostly populated with decorative species like koi.” Byleth wasn’t aware fish could be used for decoration, but Edelgard turns her gaze to her before Byleth can question it. “Do you like fish, Byleth?”

“Fishing,” she says. Thinks for a moment. “And eating.”

Edelgard huffs a laugh. Byleth doesn’t know what caused it, but she doesn’t mind hearing it. “That would be a more practical use for the pond. Even when it was regularly tended to, it was little more than a frivolous set piece.”

Byleth hums. She isn’t quite sure what the emperor means by that, but she supposes Edelgard isn’t the typical kind of noble that has things just for the sake of looking nice. The gardens are pretty, but even those are there because her friends enjoy raising them; it isn’t the same as having a servant maintain the most impressive arrangement to show off to important visitors. Thinking about it that way, it makes more sense why Edelgard doesn’t think much about keeping up an empty puddle.

The two women sit quietly as Byleth finishes out her train of thought. Looking over at her companion, it seems she wasn’t the only one lost in thought.

“Since we’re here, there’s something I wanted to inform you of,” Edelgard says, noticing Byleth’s curious gaze trained on her. “It isn’t happening for a little while yet, but I didn’t want you to be caught by surprise, either.”

Byleth sits at attention. Edelgard’s expression is carefully neutral, but there’s a worry around her eyes that has Byleth mirroring the slight concern underneath.

“There’s been a call to give you a more thorough examination. I would try and put it off longer yet, but your irregular heartbeat has Manuela and others worried for your immediate health.”

Byleth gives a little shiver despite the warmth of the day. “Is she doing it? Manuela?”

“In part, yes - purely for the physical. von Hevring will also be present in order to run tests relating to your Crest, though I can assure you nothing planned for this examination will be intrusive or cause pain.”

“Linhardt?” She can’t help the suspicious look she gives the emperor. “You didn’t like him.”

“I know your initial meeting with him was fraught. He’s doggedly persistent and lacks any sort of tact, going as far as to push people away in following his pursuits. However…” Edelgard’s stoic expression slips ever so slightly into something less guarded. “Against what my earlier behavior towards him may suggest, Linhardt is one of my closest allies. His research has resulted in great strides in abating Crest-related disabilities, and at the end of the day, he does want to help others live long, healthy lives in defiance of the hand they’ve been dealt. There is no one I trust more to study conditions such as yours, despite his...enthusiasm.”

Byleth looks back out on the water. She had no qualms about seeing Manuela again, and in truth, she’d been concerned about her heart too. (Byleth wondered if they could find a way to make it stop and return to normal again.) Having her Crest examined was another matter. From what she knew, any procedure to do with Crests was long, painful, and exhausting in a way that went beyond muscles weak from resistance and strange fire in her blood. Linhardt made the prospect even less appealing. Warning bells had blared in her mind during that first meeting, and she could still remember the defensive growl that threatened to bubble up from her throat on his approach.

The idea of returning to her old self, though, was something she yearned for deeply. She assumed losing height would be a lot harder to do than gaining it had been, but she knew going back was possible to an extent. After all, her hair had turned back to its regular blue not long after she’d left the compound. If there was a chance to go further than that, she should at least try.

And...she trusted Manuela, who had taken every care not to make her uncomfortable. And she trusted Edelgard, who had given her a place to stay and considered her feelings and snuck out of meetings to talk about books with her.

“Of course,” Edelgard mumbles to the side, “if Linhardt gets too excitable, I’ve no doubts Manuela will set him in his place.”

Byleth chuffs at that, and Edelgard gives a sheepish sort of smile.

“Okay,” says Byleth, taking a deep breath. “I’ll do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have finished this earlier, but I got mega sick Tuesday night and have been sleeping for a good part of the day. I'm feeling better now, though I'd probably feel even better if my family allowed me to eat more than just bread and rice today...chicken nuggets should be a sick food and I stand by that
> 
> Also, it's technically my birthday now! I didn't realize how old 24 was to others until people were sharing their age in an Among Us lobby and someone accused me of lying. Never thought I'd become an obsolete old goon so soon.


	13. Assistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard has to focus on work, and nothing's going to distract her.

"Er, Byleth…"

It's almost funny how immediate Byleth's response is, how her posture perks up and her attention fixes entirely on Edelgard, a question in her eyes. Even with all the public roles Edelgard has filled over the years - princess, class leader, commander-in-chief, emperor - the unblinking focus makes her face heat strangely.

How Byleth's deep gaze affects her so is a question to be unpacked later.

"Is there...something you needed?" Edelgard asks, trying her best to cover the dubious tone with an air of professionalism.

"No," Byleth says.

This is the point where any other visitor would pick up the hint to leave or, in more insistent cases, receive a nonsubtle cue from Hubert that their emperor was not to be tried. Byleth is not any other visitor, having been blessed with a lack of social awareness as well as a lack of Hubert, who was occupied with more crucial tasks than hovering.

As it is, she just stands to the side and stares at Edelgard's desk, looking both out of place and yet entirely comfortable.

Perhaps she merely sought companionship? Caspar was aiding a border territory with a bandit problem and Dorothea, Enbarr darling that she is, certainly didn't spend all her days lounging about the palace. That would leave herself as the only one present out of those Byleth spent her time with.

No matter what the woman’s situation, Edelgard couldn’t let her responsibilities slip; those quick dalliances she’d allowed herself were already more than she could afford.

“I’m sorry I cannot be more engaging, today." Edelgard gestures vaguely to the settee against the wall. "If you merely want the company, you’re welcome to bring a book in.”

Byleth nods in understanding and proceeds to remain exactly where she is.

Resigning herself to the wide shadow cast onto her desk and the prickle of being observed, Edelgard returns to the task at hand. She’s worked under far worse conditions than having an acquaintance in her own office. And if there was anyone with experience being watched over by tall, unnerving figures, well, it would be Edelgard - Hubert has been in her life since her work consisted of swinging her feet as she copied the alphabet in wobbly script. This is acceptable. 

Edelgard gives both the request and the response she’d penned one last scan before scratching the tight loops that made up her signature onto the parchment.

“What are you doing?”

Years of learning to control her reactions and having Hubert at her side are all that keep her from jolting and blotting the paper too heavily. Once the question itself sinks in, the jumpiness drains and leaves her weary.

What _isn’t_ she doing? The war was a hectic time, but restructuring a broken system that stretched an entire continent, rebuilding areas that had been destroyed, and grouping all territories under one banner while ensuring citizens of former Kingdom and Alliance territories did not go unrepresented was another beast entirely, one that had too many tricks and required unending effort to defeat. When Edelgard managed to chip a single scale, it would fall away to reveal ten more underneath.

“Addressing the needs of Fodlan’s people,” she says, realizing she had gotten too mired in her own thoughts to respond, "so we can pave the way toward a brighter future."

Byleth leans over, just enough so that a long strand of navy brushes against Edelgard’s shoulder. Her hair is still unmanageable, with odd waves and ends that flip out unregarding of what direction the rest of it is going, but a consistent diet and regular baths have given it a lovely shine and vaguely citrus scent. It’s nice. Nice to see her doing well in these little ways, that is.

 _"I humbly write Your Majesty r-regarding a matter of land co-contention,"_ Byleth reads. The stutter that shows itself with extended use of her voice has improved little, but her confidence has grown tremendously - she doesn't get frustrated at herself now. _"The crater that has always m-marked Morfiz territory is being wrrrongfully claimed by Arne…"_

Byleth trails off, brows pinching as she skips further down the page.

"Edelgard," she says, deep gaze boring into her own. "They're arguing about a hole."

Edelgard snorts and immediately pretends she didn't, biting her cheek. "

Byleth's already turned back to the desk, frowning at the other document. "Your letter's long."

"I wished to leave no room for misinterpretation. Vague landmarks are no substitute for the work of cartographers, and the emperor's desk is no place for a simple question of borders." Edelgard looks to Byleth, whose expression remains unchanged. "What would you have me write?"

Byleth tilts her head in that endearing way of hers, pondering. "Dear Morfiz," she starts. "Hush. I don't care. Love, Edelgard."

That shocks a true laugh out of Edelgard, one that comes from the stomach and is wholly unfitting for an emperor. There's an impish crinkle around Byleth's eyes.

"Well said." Edelgard employs her most imperial tone, somewhat lessened by the wobbly smirk that threatens to break out into a full grin. "Perhaps I'll employ some of your persuasive strategies in the next letter."

"You do this all day?"

"Yes, unfortunately." The note is folded and slid into an envelope to be put with the rest. "Not all are as inane as that. Most are requests for grants, troops, surplus crops to abate a poor harvest...or complaints from surrounding nobles about providing those things."

"Can I help?"

Edelgard tries desperately not to smile. It's sweet, even knowing what Byleth's "help" may entail. Though...she likely _would_ hear far less grousing if Byleth were the one the nobility brought their grievances to. The thought is more appealing than it has any right to be.

"I appreciate the offer, truly. There are simply some matters that must be dealt with alone."

Byleth hums and looks at the sky past the window. "What about tea?"

Edelgard grunts. She's been better about having more than a quick bite for lunch, but teatime still seems too frivolous to bother with. "That's all right. I've wasted enough time on Morfiz's nonsense as is."

Byleth frowns. "You didn't waste it. You finished it."

"I haven't finished anything noteworthy-"

"Tea is noteworthy."

"What? That's not even-"

"It'll be quick," she insists. Then, sobering, "Dorothea isn't here to have tea with today."

The emperor wonders if Byleth knows what she's doing or if the kicked puppy look is entirely subconscious. On anyone else, Edelgard might scoff at the expression.

On Byleth, it tugs at her, compelling her to let go of the iron grip on her schedule if only long enough to wipe it away.

"Very well," she says, turning to break eye contact first. She hears Hubert's echoes of coddling and firmly tells him to quiet. "But I won't leave my office for it."

Byleth's expressions may be minu, but she's unmistakably beaming. "I'll be back soon." And she's out the door.

Despite finally being alone and the time it would take to prepare tea and some biscuits, Edelgard can't find the focus to get through the next sheet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imperial equivalent to when ur cat sits on the keyboard
> 
> COUGHS.....we haven't been in a really great climate for creativity lately, huh! Still, I managed to finish something. I will say that after this I'm going to aim for an every-other-week schedule, which will hopefully give me the space to do a bit more planning and editing without burning out, but I won't make that a hard date, just an approximate time frame.
> 
> I was originally going to make this chapter about something else entirely, but I felt I was lacking on banter between the ladies specifically. Hopefully I've done a good job!


End file.
